Thirteen Reasons Why
by operaghost517
Summary: Thirteen of the most important moments for Peeta throughout Catching Fire as he is forced back into the Arena and faced with the possibility of losing what is most important to him. Companion to Nine Lives of Peeta Mellark.
1. Homecoming

Homecoming

**And so we begin again. Thank you all so much for your support! I'm very excited to be writing this again. It's given me a whole new perspective on reading the books, thinking from Peeta's point of view, and I can't WAIT to reread Mockingjay!**

**If you haven't read Nine Lives it's ok! They are just companions, so as long as you've read Catching Fire you don't need to read my first story (Though I'd love it if you did!) Also, just a reminder, I'm not writing all of Catching Fire. I'm picking what I think are the 13 most significant moments for Peeta. So, yes, there will be things left out. Also, I know this title is actually a real book...I've actually read that book. But it fits my way of thinking about these moments for Peeta, and as this isn't actually being published I figure it'll be okay!  
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**Read, review, enjoy! Thanks :)**

My house is quiet. Silent. Almost all the time. I live in it alone, though I'd offered it halfheartedly to my family. They'd refused politely, of course, saying they needed to stay with the bakery, though we all knew that wasn't the reason. They don't know me anymore. They can't begin to understand the things I have gone through, and it unnerves them. I am not the same boy who left them, and when I returned I found I was searching for that life I had left behind, but it was a life I no longer fit in to.

When the train had pulled up to District 12 my family had been waiting for me on the platform, right next to hers. But the reception could not have been different. She fell into her mother's and sister's arms, not crying but looking perilously close. Their tears spilled enough for her, though, as they held her like they would never let go.

And I remember how Gale held her closest of all. I remember the look on her face when she saw him.

My family greeted me with hugs and happiness, too, though it seemed somehow forced. My brothers I knew still felt guilt over what had happened, and my mother never really cared for me to begin with. Still, they put on a show for the cameras. My father was the only one who seemed genuinely happy to see me, though he didn't quite know how to react. He wanted his son back, but the boy he knew _had _died in the Arena.

Even my friends kept away. The night I got back a few of them came over, but our conversation was strange and they left in less than an hour. And I was relieved. We no longer had anything in common. They were going to work in the mines or in the shops. Getting married and starting families.

And I…I was left alone with my thoughts.

Of the Arena, the tributes, the Games…

Of her.

In the months following our return we have rarely spoken. I don't know if I prefer it this way or not. At least I don't have to deal with the pain of seeing her and knowing it was all a lie. Still…being away from her brings pain, too. I've learned now that love is synonymous with pain. But why, then, do I have to love her so much?

For months now we've been living like this. This estranged acquaintance, barely speaking unless there are cameras, and then we put on the show the Capitol desires. And it's killing me. We hadn't spoken a single word for several weeks prior to the cameras returning, and then suddenly she was running at me with a look of elation on her face. And for a moment, I forgot everything that had passed between us, and just held her. We fell into the snow together, kissing and smiling, and for a moment I was perfectly happy.

Then reality caught up with me again, and I remembered this was all just an act.

Even after the tour begins things don't change. Somehow I'd hoped that being around all the Capitol folks we had left behind all those months ago would at least bring back some matter of civility or acknowledgment between us. But Katniss leaves the wall between us up, and I'm afraid to take it down.

It's not until I see how Katniss is hurting that I decide I need to make the first move, since I know she won't. She's so proud, she won't admit she needs help. And she knows she's hurt me, and I believe she is feeling to guilty to try to be friendly. Besides, she probably knows I am still in love with her, and doesn't know how to handle it. But I can't handle the layer of ice between us anymore, so I finally go to her.

It's after she has had an outburst at Effie—not that I blame her. Things are very stressful during the tour as we are forced to relive our worst nightmares in the Games, and Effie's over the top attitude is grating to say the least. When Katniss yells at her and storms off, I recognize my chance. At least a reason to see if she is okay. I give her a moment alone before following.

The hallway is silent and my footsteps echo throughout it, warning her to my approach. "I'm not in the mood for a lecture," she growls as I approach.

"I'll try to keep in brief," I reply taking a seat next to her. There's a hair's breadth of space between our knees that I long to cross.

She turns her head briefly and looks at me. "I thought you were Haymitch," she says, and turns away again.

I shake my head. "No, he's still working on that muffin." I watch her for a moment, absentmindedly shifting my artificial leg. "Bad day, huh?"

A strand of dark hair falls in front of her eyes and she pushes it away impatiently. "It's nothing."

That's what she always does. Brushes aside concern in favor of going it alone. But I'm tired of struggling by myself. I want to go back to the way things were, before my world was torn apart. I know that's not possible, so I'll have to make do. "Look Katniss," I say, starting slowly. "I've been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn't fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I'm sorry." I'm speaking hurriedly by the time I finish, nerves accelerating my words. She stares at me for a moment, and I'm frightened of what she is going to say. It's strange that she scares me more than anything else. She, who I would trust with my life, can ruin everything with just a few words.

"I'm sorry, too," she replies, catching me off guard. But at least it's not a rejection.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about," I answer honestly. "You were just keeping us alive." She shrugs. "But I don't want us to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there's a camera around. So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends."

A smile creeps ever so slightly onto her face as she nods in agreement with me. I can tell it is a weight off her shoulders as much as it is off mine. Still, I can sense her wandering off into her own thoughts again, and so I try to bring her back.

"So, what's wrong?" I ask again, naively hoping for a different response this time. She doesn't respond. "Let's start with something more basic. Isn't it strange that I know you'd risk your life to save mine…but I don't know what your favorite color is?"

"Green," she says with a wider smile. "What's yours?"

"Orange."

"Orange? Like Effie's hair?"

I make a face. "A bit more muted. More like…the sunset." Specifically, the sunset I glimpsed through the cave in the arena when I held her in my arm.

"You know, everyone's always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven't seen them," she says.

"Well, I've got a whole train car full. Come one." I reach down for her hand and am gratified when she accepts and leaves our fingers intertwined. Apparently I am a glutton for punishment, for though I promised her I simply wanted to be friends, I think we both know that will never be the truth. And having her thin fingers laced in mine is just giving me a taste of what I know I will never have.

As we approach the dining car Katniss starts to shift uncomfortably, finally announcing she needs to apologize to Effie. Her words are frilly and fluffy and sound as if she's just committed the most horrid crime ever imagined. Perfect. Effie accepts graciously, even offering Katniss a small hug, to which she responds less than enthusiastically.

When we reach the room where I store my paintings, I push the door open slowly, nervous about what her reaction will be. I don't fear for her criticizing my skill. At the risk of sounding egotistical, I know I'm good. But it's their content—the vivid re-imaginings of the Games—that I worry will upset her. I hesitate and almost decide not to show them to her at all, but I _need _to show someone. Someone who will look at them and say more than just, 'Oh, how pretty,' or compliment my skill. I know Katniss. I know she will feel the same way I do when I paint them. And I need someone to understand.

"What do you think?" I ask after she had been staring at them for several minutes.

"I hate them," she gasps out. Her voice sounds choked. "All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you've brought it back to life." Her words are almost accusatory. "How do you remember these things so exactly?"

I lower my gaze from hers and say softly, "I see them every night." Nightmares, which I had never suffered from prior to the Games, now plague me every night. Everything from the pain of Cato cutting me to the smell of the dank cave to the fear of losing Katniss feels as real as if I were still living it.

"Me, too. Does it help? To paint them out?" She doesn't look at me as she speaks. Her eyes rest on a painting of Rue, and in the bright white light of the train, I see tears sparkling in her soft, gray eyes.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. I wish things were different and I could take her in my arms again. Somehow being close to her always seems to make the bad things seem further away. "I think I'm a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am. But they haven't gone anywhere."

"Maybe they won't," she responds, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Haymitch's haven't."

I shake my head sadly. "No. But for me, it's better to wake up with a paintbrush than a knife in my hand."

I don't confess to her then, though I wish I could have, that after losing her, this is my greatest fear. Becoming like Haymitch, so stuck in the Games that I can never really get out. Becoming someone I don't recognize. I didn't lose myself in the Games, just as I promised my brother. I still knew who I was, even as I fought. Even as I killed. Why, though? I know I've changed. I've gone from an innocent baker to a haunted survivor, but I still know myself.

I look up again and see Katniss staring at me. There is no anger in her gaze, nor love nor even compassion. She wears a look that no one else would recognize. It simply says, "I understand." And for just a moment, though we are in a train full of people, it feels as if we are alone in the world. And I realize then that as long as I have her I will know who I am. As long as I love her I will not have lost myself.


	2. Repercussions

Repercussions

**This would have been up much sooner, but I was preoccupied with Harry Potter coming to an end (but not really...it'll never end for me!). Sorry, but it was worth it :) Next time won't be so long! **

**Thank you all for your support, you are all incredible! **

Katniss and I follow Haymitch blindly through the Justice Building of District 11. I'm still in shock from what's just happened as we stumble up staircase after staircase. That man…Why was he shot? I noticed he whistled at Katniss—the whistle that had been a signal between her and Rue—but it had just been a symbol of respect, had it not? Perhaps…perhaps he had committed some sort of other crime. Maybe the two were in no way connected. I don't really believe this. I have long since grown out of this sort of naivety.

When we finally stop we are in a dusty attic surrounded by furniture and other miscellaneous scraps that look as if they haven't seen the light of day for generations. I instantly grow uneasy as I take in my surroundings, for there can only be one reason Haymitch would take us to such a secluded area: it is safe to talk.

"What happened?" he asks. The question is directed at both of us, but even as I answer his eyes search Katniss.

"After Katniss gave her speech, a man whistled. The signal between her and Rue. I thought it was harmless, but when Katniss and I went back to get her flowers, we saw the Peacekeepers shoot him. We heard more gunshots after, but we were already inside." Something flashes in Haymitch's eyes, and I recognize the silent communication pass once again between Katniss and Haymitch. "What's going on, Haymitch?" I demand.

He sinks onto a broken crate and sighs heavily. "It will be better coming from you," he says to Katniss, though his head rests in his hands.

She looks hesitant, but doesn't argue. "It all started with the berries, Peeta. People didn't see them just as an act of love. A lot of them saw it as us—or more specifically, me—defying the Capitol. And now, now there are uprisings! And it's all my fault, and everyone is in danger because of me!" I can tell she is upset, but for once I don't go to her. Too much weight is carried in her words for me to be worried about her feelings at the moment.

She takes a moment to compose herself, while I stare at her intently, before beginning again. "President Snow came to my house before the tour began. He told me what was happening, about the trouble I've caused. And he told me what would happen if this continued. He knows everything, Peeta. About...about us." She's kind enough to omit the rest of this sentence—how we never were "us," and I was just stupid enough to believe it. "He knows about Gale, too." She takes a deep breath. "He…he kissed me. While we were hunting right after we got back." It's funny that after everything I've witnessed, this can still hurt as much as is does. Especially since I never had any claim over her to be jealous of in the first place. "And I guess Snow saw it," she continues. "Because he threatened Gale. He threatened everybody, if things get worse.

"I was supposed to fix things on this tour. Make everyone who had doubted believe I acted out of love. Calm things down. But obviously, all I've done today is get three people killed, and now everyone in the square will be punished." She crumples onto the couch behind her, the springs groaning, unaccustomed to the weight.

"Then I made things worse, too. By giving the money," I realize. Suddenly I am overcome with rage. Why was I not told? Do they think I'm weak? Too innocent to handle such information? Or did they simply not trust me, even after everything? I lash out, simply needing something to do to vent my anger, and hit a precariously placed lamp. It shatters on the cool ground, and for a moment all that can be heard is the tinkling of breaking glass.

"This has to stop," I demand furiously. "Right now. This—this—game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I'm too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them."

"It's not like that, Peeta—" Katniss tries to protest, but I cut her off.

"It's exactly like that!" I yell. "I have people I care about, too, Katniss! Family and friends back in District Twelve who will be just as dead as yours if we don't pull this thing off." Flashes of my family, of my brother and his little baby, my friends that I've grown up with, appear in my mind's eye, fueling my rage further. "So, after all we went through in the arena, don't I even rate the truth from you?"

Haymitch stands as if to make a move toward me, but I keep the distance between us. "You're always so reliably good, Peeta," says Haymitch. "So smart about how you present yourself before the cameras. I didn't want to disrupt that."

"Well, you overestimated me. Because I really screwed up today." I'm so _sick _of them seeing me like that. As if I can't make a mistake. As if somehow I automatically know what the right thing to do is. I don't know what the hell I'm doing; I'm blundering through this whole mess just like they are, yet they assume I just know what to do. Especially when the situation is so tense that one wrong move is the difference between life and death. "What do you think is going to happen to Rue and Thresh's families? Do you think they'll get their share of our winnings? Do you think I gave them a bright future? Because I think they'll be lucky if they survive the day!" In my mind's eye I see the small faces of Rue's siblings, the haggard and heartbroken look on her parents faces. And I know that I have as good as killed them. I pick up the nearest thing—a small, marble statue—and throw it with all of my might, hoping just to erase the memory of those innocent faces.

"He's right, Haymitch," Katniss says, her clear voice piercing my thoughts. "We were wrong not to tell him. Even back in the Capitol."

She's trying, I know. And she's agreeing with me, so despite how angry I am—especially with her—I try to calm myself down. "Even in the arena, you two had some sort of system worked out, didn't you? Something I wasn't a part of."

Katniss shakes her head. "No. Not officially. I just could tell what Haymitch wanted me to do by what he send, or didn't send."

I cross my arms and stare just past Katniss. "Well, I never had that opportunity. Because he never sent me anything until you showed up," I say.

"Look, boy—" Haymitch tries to interrupt.

"Don't bother, Haymitch." Despite what they may think, I'm not stupid, and I know what hew did and why he did it. "I know you had to choose one of us. And I'd have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. People are dead out there. More will follow unless we're very good. We all know I'm better than Katniss in front of the cameras. No one needs to coach me on what to say. But I have to know what I'm walking into," I say. My voice his calmed, but inside my anger is still seething.

"From now on, you'll be fully informed," Haymitch assures

"I better be." I can't even look at Katniss as I leave the room, though I can sense her move behind me as I pass her, as if there is something she wants to say but can't. As I make my way back down the tangled mess of stairways and corridors to the main floor of the Justice Building again, I let my mind wander, searching for something that will calm my severely frayed temper. While I fail at that, I realize something that shocks me. I am furious—at Katniss.

I've felt many things toward and because of Katniss: love, fear, sadness, frustration, happiness, hope and despair. Yet never has my rage been directed at her. Always I have been angry with myself, for believing, or at the Capitol, for getting us into this whole situation to begin with.

But now, it's different. When I think of her I feel a pain inside, as if something is consuming me from within. And while deep inside I feel that incontrovertible trace of love it is overshadowed by resentment for what she has kept from me. How could she know that I would lay down my life for her, and yet not tell me things so pivotal to our survival and innocent lives? How could I know that _she _would die for me and that still she does not trust me?

Love doesn't fix everything, I'm beginning to realize. Love, despite what I have believed and hoped for, is not unconquerable. It does not create some sort of wall of triumph where anything is possible. Love does not create trust.

I realize now how the Games, how the Capitol have corrupted me. The wide-eyed boy with the bread who saw only the best in the world is long gone. I can still see the good, yes. I still know what I am fighting for, what I have that is worth living for. But it is becoming increasingly difficult to do so as all the truths and evils pervade my thoughts and visions. And I no longer believe that everything is going to work out happily.

I'm jolted from my thoughts by a shock of pink hair and a bright voice. "There you are, Peeta!" shrills Effie, followed closely by two Peacekeepers. "I told you he was around here somewhere. Now, where are Haymitch and Katniss?"

Thoughts race furiously through my mind. I know that they will be in serious trouble if they are discovered out of range of the Peacekeepers and the cameras—in short, out of range of the Capitol. I can't let the Peacekeepers search for them, or inevitably they will be discovered. Instead, I force myself to grimace slightly and come up with a lie. "Katniss is a bit sick. Something didn't agree with her at lunch. Haymitch is with her now, you know, holding a bucket. Pretty nasty, you don't want to see it." I mime puking, just to get the point across. Effie looks faint, and one of the Peacekeepers grunts in disgust.

"Right," he says gruffly. "You just, you go make sure she'll be at dinner," he orders Effie, butting her with the back of his rifle. Effie looks horribly offended, but takes off nevertheless. I hope Haymitch at least will have enough sense to play along, if she reaches them before I do.

I sigh as I turn and begin the walk back to our rooms. No matter how angry I am at Katniss, I can't seem to stop protecting her.

Maybe I had grown out of my boyhood ideals of love. I am not so naïve now as to believe love is a sort of cure-all. But I am beginning to see its complexity; that you can't just simply will yourself to stop loving someone, no matter the circumstances. And anger cannot erase love any more than love can erase anger. Just because I am angry with Katniss does not make me love her any less, nor want to protect her any less. She is still the most important thing to me, and now I see always will be.


	3. Nightmares

Nightmares

**OK, bear with me for a moment here. This chapter is taking moments that are roughly 10 pages (and a few days) apart in the books, but they have to do with the same thing, so I wanted to include them in one. But this means that the next two chapters actually happen before the last half of this one. Slightly confusing, I know.**

**Thanks everyone for supporting this story. It's my favorite thing I've written, and a story I think deserves to be told, and I'm glad you all like how I tell it :) Please keep reading and reviewing, and enjoy!  
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I wake up with a start, breathing heavily. I lay flat on my back, my fists clenched so tightly I have to make an effort to unclench them. With my eyes closed I try to separate reality from dreams, sorting through the mess of visions and memories. Katniss…running, screaming, falling. Away from me, out of my reach. Blood, sweat, terror.

A dream.

A nightmare.

I sigh heavily as my surroundings take shape again and I remember where I am. On a train, on the Victory Tour, with Katniss sleeping safely in a compartment just a few doors down from my own. Still…I feel uneasy. I wrestle myself out of the covers and lightly step out my door.

In the darkness of the hallway I make my way towards Katniss' door, simply needed to be close to her. To hear her breathing, to know that she is okay. Halfway down the corridor I can dimly make out the numbers on the door I recognize to be Katniss'. I rest my hand and forehead on her door for a moment, realizing this is the closest I will get to her. I hear her moving restlessly within, and know I should be satisfied and return to my own bed. Yet I can't bring myself to leave just yet, so I simply pace outside her room, as if on guard against an invisible foe.

For several minutes I carry on like this, until a noise from within stops me. A gentle whimper, which slowly morphs into a heart-wrenching cry. Without pausing to think I'm through the door and gathering Katniss into my arms. Her dark hair is plastered to her face with sweat and she writhes in my arms, still trapped in her nightmare.

"Katniss. Katniss, love, it's okay. I'm here," I sooth, words meshed with gentle kisses on her forehead. These intimate words which by the light and clarity of day I would not dare to say. "Katniss, honey, I'm here. You're safe." Her gray eyes finally open and lock on mine. For a moment I expect her to scream again and demand that I leave. Instead, she buries her face in my chest, where her tears and sweat mingle and dampen my shirt. I hold her, as her shoulders shake. My hand traces the curve of her neck and my mouth murmurs calming words. I tell her stories, always with happy endings. I whisper memories from before the Games, before our worlds were turned upside down, until I hear her breathing calm and see her eyes closed once again by sleep.

I bend down and kiss her on the forehead, intending to leave, but the moment I untangle myself from her she begins whimpering again. I pause for a moment. I have never seen Katniss quite so vulnerable as this, and it wrenches my heart more than ever. I can't protect her from her own nightmares, but at least I can be here for her when she wakes up. I lay down softly beside her, reaching my hand down to find hers and clasp it tightly in mine. Our faces are inches from each other on her pillow, and I simply watch her until at last sleep takes me.

The soft sound of her breath pervades even into my dreams, and for once I do not have a single nightmare.

Each night I tell myself that I won't return, that it is improper and that I am only confusing myself and Katniss more than necessary. Yet each night I find my feet tracing the familiar path to Katniss' room, find my hands opening the door, and find my arms reaching out to comfort her. I can't bear the thought that she is hurting, that she is frightened, and that I am not there for her. So each night I go to her and keep the nightmares away. Not only hers, but my own.

I know people talk. I know they think it's wrong. But they haven't been through what we have. They can't understand it, because they don't see it every night. We've been forced to face terrors that most people can't begin to imagine, and now every night we relive them. Every night I see her, I see losing her forever, and the only remedy is to wake up with her in my arms.

I tell her this one day, hardly thinking of how uncomfortable it might make her feel. It is past noon, the sunlight gently creeping in through the curtains, when she finally awakens. Her head rests against my arm—which had been asleep for a very long time, though I don't dare move it—and she stirs gently.

"No nightmares," I say softly as she turns to face me.

"What?" she asks groggily.

"You didn't have any nightmares last night." She looks contemplative as I say this, as if she hadn't really realized it herself.

"I had a dream, though," she replies quietly. "I was following a mockingjay though the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice." I see tears glisten in her eyes, though none fall and her voice remains steady.

"Where did she take you?" I ask, gently brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, aching to preserve this tender moment.

"I don't know. We never arrived." Her voice drifts off, "But I felt happy."

"Well, you slept like you were happy." And it's true. For once there were no screams, no tears, no need for me to hold her close.

She sits up, and my arm feels cold where her head has left it. "Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?"

I think about this for a moment, concentrating on the way a strand of her hair curls ever so slightly over her left eyebrow. "I don't know," I answer. "I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror." It's an interesting thought, actually. Katniss' fears make her fight, while mine makes me freeze.

"You should wake me," she says, but I shake my head.

"It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you," I explain casually. "I'm okay once I realize you're here." I smile down at her, but she is uncomfortably avoiding my gaze. "Be worse when we're home and I'm sleeping alone again," I add, though this only makes her look more uncomfortable.

The truth is, I'm petrified about returning home. I'm afraid of the nightmares, yes, but I'm more afraid that I am going to lose whatever ground I have gained here. Any progress we have made at rebuilding some semblance of a real relationship could easily be erased if we slip back into the easy routine of cold acquaintances that was the norm after the Games. And I know I can't bear having her drift away again.

Holding her in my arms has been the only thing that makes any sense to me these past few weeks. In this unfamiliar world that has become our reality I feel often adrift in a sea of things I don't understand, where one wrong move can cause a devastating tidal wave of repercussions. And one wrong word to Katniss can change everything.

It's because of this that I have cherished these nighttime terrors where her guard is down. Where I don't have to fear that any word I say can be misconstrued by the Capitol. I can simply hold Katniss, protect her the best way I know how. I can tell her that everything will be okay, and in those moments between sleeping and waking, she believes me.

The problem is I no longer believe myself.


	4. Proposal

Proposal

**I'm going to be totally honest. I'm not completely happy with this chapter. It's not quite how I wanted it to turn out, so I might come back and redo it. However, I figured I had been waiting long enough, and stressed over it enough times that it was time just to move on. Still, I did put a lot of time into this and it serves a purpose! Peeta's beginning to realize some things...**

**I've already got the next chapter almost finished so it won't be long for that one! Thank you all for your patience. Read, review, enjoy!  
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The tour of the Capitol has been excruciating, more so than any of the Districts, though here we don't have to face any grieving or accusing families. Here, they adore us and completely believe Katniss' only motive for pulling the berries was love.

Yet here, I am somehow even more aware that it is all a lie.

I can see Katniss growing desperate. Each time she kisses me a little longer, holds my hand a little tighter in front of the cameras, but draws back even further when we are alone. Though she and Haymitch haven't kept any more secrets from me, I see them exchanging looks all the time. Looks that say, "This isn't enough."

It's after a long day of acting in front of the cameras that Katniss finally makes her suggestion. We are back in the rooms we stayed in before the Games, in very different circumstances but with the same things on the line—our lives. Though this time it's not just _our_ lives that hang in the balance.

Katniss sits on the plush couch, her knees curled up to her chin. "You need to propose to me, Peeta," she says suddenly. I look at her, the words not quite making sense in my ears. "In front of the cameras. If we're so in love, marriage is logically the next step. It's what they'll want to see, and maybe it'll convince some of the other Districts."

I give a half nod and turn away from her, composing myself. Of course. I expected this would happen eventually. It doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt, though. A proposal. What I've always wanted, right? But out of duty and necessity, not love.

Haymitch sighs. "She's right, boy. If you've got any chance this is it." When I make eye contact with him, I see that he realizes much more what I am going through than Katniss does.

"All right," is all I can manage. I see Katniss look relieved, then confused as I unceremoniously leave the room.

"I thought he wanted this," I can hear her ask, her voice growing fainter as I walk farther down the hall.

"Not like this." Haymitch's voice is barely audible, yet his words ring loud and true.

My room is empty and impersonal as I enter, a reminder that I don't belong here. And for a moment I long for my childhood home more than I have ever longed for anything. For the small bed that I grew out of as soon as I turned 13. For the ragged quilt that my grandmother sewed for me before she died. For the constant chaos resulting from us three brothers. For the laughter of my father.

I take a seat on the plush cushions of the bay window, looking out over the immense skyline of the Capitol. The buildings are so imposing, and I suddenly feel so small. I see what this proposal will mean. We will never be free. President Snow will forever loom over us, his scent of blood will remind us of what will happen if we make one mistake. He will rob us of everything.

I've lost any semblance or hope of normalcy. Instead, President Snow has condemned me to eternal pain. While we live I know that Katniss and I will have to play the role of happy couple. Yet we are not a couple, and neither of us is happy. She will always have to pretend to be in love with me, though she may be in love with someone else. And I, irreversibly in love with her, will always know this. Each time I kiss her I suffer the pain of wondering if it is Gale she wishes were kissing her.

To love her from afar would have been a much kinder fate. With both of us leading separate lives, perhaps we could have moved on. I don't doubt that I will always love her, no matter the circumstances, but perhaps if we were not forced together so often the pain of this unrequited love would not have been quite so acute.

Pain, from afar, would have been better too. It is some kind of sick circle, what we are trapped in. She causes me pain because she does not love me. It pains her to see her hurting, and I hate myself for causing her pain. We are trapped with now way to get out—exactly where President Snow wants us. I realize that forcing us to be together for the rest of our lives serves a dual purpose. Not only does he hope to quell the tension in the districts, but he also wants revenge because Katniss would not play by his rules.

It's decided that the perfect moment should be decidedly public. Luckily, an interview with Caesar is scheduled for the next day, which will be the perfect opportunity to broadcast to the nation how very much in love Katniss and I are. Haymitch coaches Katniss on how to accept my proposal in a way that is most convincing. He offers no advice to me, just a small, sad smile.

So this is what my life has come to. So pathetic that _Haymitch _is giving me pitying glances. The three of us part ways that night without a word, and I stare at my ceiling for what feels like hours before finally drifting off to sleep, dreading what was to come the next day.

The stage is familiar to me by now, as is the genial banter with Caesar. As the minutes tick by, I begin to worry that Caesar will create no moment to do this as I expected him to. I know that if no segue is presented I'll have to create one myself, though I'm not really sure how. Luckily, just a few minutes from the end of the interview, Caesar asks the perfect question.

"So Peeta, give us an idea of what the future has in store for you two," Caesar asks genially.

I bit my lip as if trying to keep from smiling. "Well, it's funny you should ask that," I reply, turning to Katniss, though making sure we are still in clear view of the cameras. I take a deep breath and sink down to one knee. There are gasps and cries of joy from the audience as they all realize what I am about to do, but nothing really registers. I say the words I struggled over for hours, trying not to stumble over them.

"Katniss," I begin. "You know I've loved you for my entire life. Since that first moment I saw you in kindergarten. I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to know you more than that—a simple acquaintance, nothing more. Now we've been brought together, and I can't help but feel that it was meant to be. That out of all this chaos, both our lives being changed forever, we found each other. We've faced a lot of hardships, but we've always conquered them—together. You've made me who I am today, Katniss. I know people will say we're too young, but beyond any shadow of a doubt I know that I will love you forever, and more than anything I want to make it official. So, Katniss, will you marry me?"

I wonder if she sensed the truth behind my words. That despite the show I was putting on for the Capitol and the districts, I meant every word. I think she does, because when I look at her she is crying. Sure, there's a smile on her face as she squeals, "Yes," so the audience will think they are tears of joy. But after all this time, I know their true meaning.

_I'm sorry. _

I do truly believe Katniss is sorry for this. For the toll that this has taken on my life. And I don't blame her for it. She can't force herself to love me anymore than I can force myself not to love her.

She throws herself into my arms and I spin her around enthusiastically before setting her down and pulling her into a passionate embrace. I pull away after several long moments and face the audience, keeping one arm firmly around her waist. "We're engaged!" I call out to the audience, who responds enthusiastically with cheers and stamping feet. They love us. They can't get enough of us.

And yet I've never hated myself more.

And even more than that, I hate the Capitol.


	5. Party and Rebellion

Party and Rebellion

**Ahh so what did everyone think of the trailer at the VMAs? I think Jennifer Lawrence looks super promising as Katniss...Wish the trailer had shown some more than just her running, but what can you do? I'm excited :)**

**Thanks for all the kind reviews and alerts/faves. Your support means so much! I'm a bit nervous going forward from here! I'm really not going off anything Suzanne Collins has mentioned for how Peeta is feeling. This is strictly how I think he would feel, so I'm sorry if it doesn't match up with what you think, but I hope you enjoy anyway!  
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"I want to taste everything in the room," Katniss states, snapping me out of my reverie. I had been taking in the exquisite sight of the dining hall; of the magnificent tables of food and floating musicians, the fabulously dressed people and immaculately arranged flowers. Katniss' voice draws my attention from all this, however, and focuses on her.

She looks fantastic, but that is no surprise to me. Though I've always thought she was beautiful, it's no use arguing that Cinna knows how to show her to her best advantage. She's clad in a form fitting, sleek black dress that trails on the ground, with a low cut back and a slit up the side. More sexy than sweet now, I notice.

Something is different, though, and I realize for the first time in weeks she seems happy, and I have no idea why. I can tell it's genuine, not put on for the cameras, and I decide not to search for a meaning, but simply enjoy this evening with her. "Then you'd better pace yourself," I advise.

"Okay," she replies with a smile, "No more than one bite of each dish."

I trail behind Katniss, laughing slightly as she on more than one occasion breaks her oath of only one bite. Constantly we are sought out by well-wishers and fans, Capitol folk who just ooze with excitement over meeting us. Katniss acts delighted and I gracious, but really I'm getting rather annoyed. I don't want to share Katniss on this evening, but between the food and the folk, I'm getting very little time with her.

We make it through about ten tables before Katniss laughs, gripping her stomach. "I'm stuffed!" she says, right as her prep team joins us. I've never been officially introduced to them, and though I've heard of their eccentricities, it is obvious that they are all highly intoxicated.

"Why aren't you eating?" one asks, I believe Katniss has called her Octavia.

"I have been, but I can't hold another bite," Katniss responds, causing the other three to collapse into gales of laughter.

"No one lets that stop them!" says the man, Flavius, grabbing Katniss' hand and pulling her over to a table across the room. Octavia and the other woman grip my arms and pull me behind, giggling nonsensically. "Drink this!"

I pick one up and examine it for a moment. The liquid is clear and has no odor that I can detect. Really, it looks just like water to me. I begin to bring it to my lips when Octavia shrieks and grips my arm.

"Not here!" she says, as if I were insane for almost trying.

The other woman, Venia, continues, "You have to do it in there." She points at the hallway at the other end of the room, which I know leads to the bathroom. "Or you'll get it all over the floor!"

Suddenly it makes sense, and I see Katniss' horrified face mimicking my own. "You mean this will make me puke?"

They all laugh again, and I have to fight back a violent urge to silence them. "Of course, so you can keep eating," Octavia answers. She sounds exasperated, as if she can't believe we didn't already know this, but also amused. "I've been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or else how would you have any fun at a feast?"

This whole thing sickens me. The glass feels contaminated in my hand and I carefully set it back down on the table, my hand shaking with rage. I need to get away from these people, from their ignorance and frivolities. "Come on, Katniss, let's dance." I grab her hand and unceremoniously leave her prep team, weaving our way through the dance floor to a rather inconspicuous spot where I hope we will be left alone.

Neither of us considers ourselves particularly accomplished dancers, especially in the crazy Capitol style, so I'm glad for the slow song that requires relatively little movement. I pull her in my arms and we sway slowly in a circle. Her head rests against my chest and I can feel her ragged breathing, and know she is feeling how I am feeling. I'm glad I'm holding onto her, her presence calms me down. Otherwise I'm not sure what I would do in this moment when rage at the injustice of it all is bubbling so close to the surface.

They throw up. So they can eat _again. _Yet in District 12, a child might not eat for a week. In the Capitol, eating is a joy and a pastime. So fun, that once is not enough. At home, it is survival, and not everyone gets enough to survive. The tables of food that line the immense hall could feed all of District 12 for months. And here, they are meant for one night of celebration. For a useless, meaningless and selfish party, which Katniss and I are a part of.

"You go along, thinking you can deal with it, thinking maybe they're not so bad, and then you—" I choke off.

I am disgusted at myself. For taking a part in this and playing along with their game. I realize, though I have always known, what a twisted system this all is. Katniss and I killed—murdered—innocent children, and we are being rewarded for it. We ended lives, lied, cheated, stole. We betrayed ourselves and our friends, all in hopes of keeping everyone we love safe, when really we have condemned them to death—slower, yes. But death all the same.

"Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment. Really, this is nothing by comparison."

For how can they live when the very name of District 12 is blacklisted? It's obvious that the Capitol could help the Districts if they wanted. The sheer amount of _stuff _that is present here is astonishing. The things these people throw away would be treasured luxuries back home, and I'm sure in many of the other districts. And yet they do nothing. They sit and watch us die. They _enjoy _it. It is a sense of security and pride that they do not have to suffer, but there are others that do. What good is being rich if there are no poor to compare themselves too?

"I know. I know that. It's just sometimes I can't stand it anymore. To the point where…I'm not sure what I'll do." I take a deep steadying breath and lower my voice. "Maybe we were wrong, Katniss.

"About what?"

"About trying to subdue things in the districts." I see her look around, frightened. Her eyes scan the room, coming to rest on the cameras which for once are not focused on us. Thankfully. I know it was a stupid thing to say given our present situation and location. But I needed to voice the doubts I'm having about everything, and Katniss is the only one who would understand. Still, I feel bad when I see the panicked look on her face.

"Sorry," I say. Her face softens a little.

"Save it for home," she whispers back.

I want to say more, but at that moment Portia come up to us, introducing a man named Plutarch Heavensbee who asks for a dance with Katniss. I step aside courteously and retreat to a corner where dozens of elaborately decorated cakes are displayed. The frosting is impeccable on all of them—a perfection I could never hope to imitate. Suddenly I am overcome with an overwhelming sense that everything we have been doing is futile. Everything in the Capitol is a flawless mask, like the frosting the covers the imperfections of the cake beneath. They want us to be like the frosting—moldable, and easy to conceal our flaws.

But we are not like that, neither of us. There's always that one cake that is too far-gone to be even worth trying to save, and I fear that is how President Snow sees Katniss and I. Simpler just to get rid of rather than try to manipulate.

Sometimes the fear is almost too great. I think of all the things he could do to us, to her, and I want to just give up. I'm beginning to realize there is no way we can win this. And for once, I want to just do the easy thing. To tell President Snow he wins, and accept whatever fate he has planned for me. But as I turn my attention from the cakes, my eyes rest on Katniss, leaving the dance floor and walking toward me. Her expression is troubled, but when she meets my eyes it grows relieved. I am ashamed of myself as I look at her. Katniss would never have these doubts and fears. She would fight for what she believed in.

I believe in her. And I will fight for her to the very end.


	6. Quell Revealed

Quell Revealed

**I am actually so embarrassed about the hiatus of this story. You have my deepest apologies for being so inconsistent. I went through a little writer's crisis where I felt like everything I wrote for this story was terrible, but I'm over it, and again I apologize. I will not make you wait so long in the future. **

** Despite the long wait, here is the next chapter! I actually got really emotional writing this. I do love Peeta so much, and his life is so hard! Hope you all enjoy it, read and review :)  
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Once again, I find myself alone in my house. Sitting stiffly on the dark couch, the remote clutched loosely in my hand as I turn the television on for the mandatory viewing dictated by the Capitol. Caesar Flickerman is illuminated on the screen, exuberant as ever. I feel a clenching in my stomach as he announces what tonight's program will be about.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he calls to an enthusiastic audience. "You've seen the dresses, you've voted on your favorites. Now, are you ready to see the finished products?" There is an ear-splitting roar from the crowd. "Katniss tried on your six favorite dresses, all designed by the fabulous Cinna!" The shrieking from the audience goes shrill, and I realize as Caesar pulls Cinna on stage that he has become something of an icon for the women of the Capitol. He responds graciously, waving and blowing kisses, but I sense he is uncomfortable.

As the photos are brought up, each shone on a giant screen behind the stage, Caesar asks Cinna questions regarding the designs, but I barely hear.

She's stunning. Cinna has always had that miraculous gift of showing Katniss off to her best advantage, and he has not disappointed. And with her dark hair one up in elaborate styles, with jewelry expensive enough to feed the whole of District Twelve, I swear there could be no one more magnificent.

But it's not her.

When I see these photos, I don't see the girl I'm in love with. But I do see the future that was stolen from me. A small wedding, where Katniss would be wearing her mother's old gown, faded by time. Her hair done in her simple braid, and none of the layers of makeup that now cake her face. It wouldn't have been broadcast to the entire nation, and our lives wouldn't have hung in the balance.

And she would have loved me. She would have _chosen_ to marry me, instead of being forced into it, as she has now, which I know will inevitably lead to resentment. And I'm not sure if I can handle that.

I've just about had enough when Caesar announces something important will be announced regarding the Quarter Quell. I sink back down into the couch. With everything going on, I had forgotten the enormity that is this year's Games. I wonder what the Quell will be this year. My mind wanders as President Snow takes the stage. The first Quell, they forced the districts to elect their own tributes. The second, they doubled the number of tributes. Each time they give some ludicrous justification, saying it serves to remind us of something. As I remember that, and remember all the trouble Katniss and I have caused, my stomach starts to get a leaden feeling.

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," Snow says. His voice is grating in my ears, but I sense almost a hidden glee behind it. He pulls out an envelope from the box a little boy has delivered to him and gingerly opens it. He begins reading almost before he even looked at the card, as if he had it memorized. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

The remote falls from my hand and clatters to the ground, and I feel as if an invisible hand has clenched around my heart.

District 12 has only three victors. Two of them are male.

Katniss is returning to the arena.

I'm out the door the second that thought became fully formed in my mind. Though Haymitch's house is only a few doors down from mine, I'm out of breath by the time I reach in, and barge unceremoniously through the door. He's got a still un-open bottle of liquor in his hand, and he gives me a knowing look when he sees me.

"Thought I'd be seeing you soon," he says gruffly, breaking the seal of the liquor and taking a large sip. "Gotta admit, though, that was faster than I thought."

"Let me go back," I gasp. "Let me protect her."

Haymitch studies me for a moment. "After everything, you still would die for her?" he asks.

"I would do _anything_ for her," I insist. I see a flash of emotion behind Haymitch's tired eyes, but it disappears as he downs another portion of the bottle.

"What if I say no?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and taking a seat on the wooden kitchen chair. "I chose to save Katniss last time, now shouldn't I choose you this time?"

I practically throw myself down before him, gripping the arms of his chair. "That's exactly it, Haymitch," I protest. "You chose Katniss last time. So you owe me. Not my life, but whatever I want. And I want to save Katniss." Again, he just stares at me silently, and I wonder what he's thinking. I stand up abruptly and pace around the kitchen.

"She's going in, there's no arguing that. So it's just between you and me, and let's face it, I can protect her better in the arena than you. You can protect her better from outside the arena, like last time."

"Peeta," he says softly, and I hear him place the bottle of liquor down softly on the table. "Don't you want a chance to live?"

"Not without her." I turn sharply away from the window I had been looking out and head back to the door. My head is starting to spin, and I need some time alone. I've had to process my own death once before, it shouldn't be so hard the second time. What I'm more concerned about is ensuring Katniss' survival now. We won't be going into an arena of frightened children this time, and the thought of facing trained victors terrifies me. For her sake.

I stop before I walk out the door and turn back to Haymitch. "You owe me, Haymitch. Don't forget that. Let me save Katniss. You know it's what you want, too. You've always liked her best. She's the best of us." Haymitch gives a small, sad smile, shaking his head as if he is about to say something, but I walk out the door before I give him a chance to protest.

In spite of myself, I want to see Katniss as I leave. I'm not sure how I would want her to react if I did see her, though. Part of me wants her to try to save me. And not out of duty or guilt, but because she truly doesn't want me to die. Not that I would ever let her give up her life for me, but just to know she cares enough about me to even consider it would be enough to carry me to the grave. I know it's futile, though. Katniss has so much more to live for than I do, and another part of feels like I might think less of her for being willing to sacrifice all of it to save me, who could never be happy without her.

People are beginning to emerge from their houses as I wander down the streets of District 12. Some of them wave at me, or nod their head pityingly. But mostly, I see relief in every line on their face. This is one year they will not have to suffer. I can't resent them as I see them smile and hug their loved ones, despite the fact that I am faced once again with my imminent death. The Capitol has put us in this positions. And I know had the roles been reversed, and I knew Katniss and someone else sent to the Games, I would be feeling just as relieved.

Without really thinking my feet have traced the familiar step back to my family home. I can smell the welcoming aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from the store, accompanied by the hostile shrieking of my mother. For once in my life, though, I am glad to hear the clamor, simply for the fact that it reminds me I am home. With a hint of nostalgia and a bitter taste in my mouth, I gently open the front door of the shop, where I see my father kneading dough gently on the counter. He stops and looks up when he hears me enter, his concentrated look transforming into one of pity and grief.

"Peeta…" he whispers, wiping the flour off his hands before extending his arms to me. I hesitate for a moment, the swiftly cross the shop and allow myself to be folded into my father's arms. He grasps me tightly around the shoulders, and for several moments we just stand there. Finally, I pull away, knowing I will have to be the strong one from now on.

My father looks into my eyes, his hands still still clutching my shoulders. For a moment a feel as if I am a child again, when my problems were simple and my father understood them completely. He takes a shaky breath and says, "You're going in again, aren't you? To save her?"

I nod my head and reply with a tightness in my throat, "I can't let her die, Dad."

"No, I know you can't, son." Suddenly I see his eyes glistening. "Peeta, I am so proud of you," he chokes out, and I allow him to pull me in again for a hug, where I hear him quietly crying into my shoulder. I, however, keep my eyes resolutely fixed on the wall in front of me. I cannot be weak.

"I wish there is something I could do to convince you otherwise," he says sadly. "But after all these years I know you well enough. I respect you more than anyone, son, and you know what you need to do. So you keep her alive, Peeta. I know you can."

"But how?" I ask, a hint of desperation coloring my voice. "These people we are going up against…They are Careers. They are the _elite _of the Careers. How are we supposed to stay alive against them?"

My father looks at me thoughtfully. "They are just human, Peeta, whatever they may seem."

"Even so, they are practically bred for this. And the training they go through…" Suddenly a thought occurs to me. _Training. _No doubt the rigorous training the Careers go through contributes to the success they often have in the arena. They can run longer, throw farther, hit harder—all because they train. Granted the weeks we have left can't compare to the years they must have had, but maybe it will even the playing field just enough. "We are going to train like Careers," I announce, shocked by the simplicity of my own epiphany. My father smiles and nods in agreement.

I turn to walk out the door, wanting to finesse my plan, when my father's voice calls me back. "Wait," he says, walking over to me again. I can see him trying to remain passive, but the tears in his voice reveal his emotions.

"Peeta, no father could ever wish for such a son," he begins, and I try to protest against this goodbye speech, but he silences me with a wave of his hand. "You have become a man that I respect, admire, and cherish. And if you should die in that arena, I need you to know how very much I love you. And that I am sorry the life I has given you is not what you deserved. And how with you gone, I will have lost a piece of myself that I will never get back. But that it is worth it, because the eighteen years I have been your father have been the best years of my life. Whatever happens in there, we will always have that."

Every word that my father spoke tugged at a place deep inside, where I realized I have pushed aside emotions that I was not willing to recognize. Like the fact that I will never see my family again. I do not know how to respond to these words, for I know that I am not strong enough to handle saying goodbye forever. Instead, I kiss my father's cheek and turn to flee out the door before my own tears come spilling down my face.


	7. Opening Ceremonies

Opening Ceremonies

**You guys, I'm so excited about the next few chapters. I'm not going to say what they are, but I have a feeling writing the next two are going to be the most fun for me-in other words, they will be up very quickly because I am so looking forward to it. **

**I had originally intended to write a different part for this, but I felt it wasn't really necessary. ****Then I decided I wanted Peeta to meet Finnick, who is definitely one of my favorite characters. Plus I always found it interesting how Peeta called Katniss pure, despite the fact that she had killed, etc. **

**Sidenote, _The Nine Lives of Peeta Mellark _just passed 100 reviews! That's a huge milestone for me, and since I'm assuming if you are reading this you also read that, THANK YOU SO MUCH! That is the most reviews I've ever got on a story :)**

**Read, review, enjoy, and thank you!**

I shift a little uncomfortably in the jump suit Portia has fashioned for tonight's ceremonies. It's magnificent, of course—the way it glows like embers is astounding—but the fabric is quite tight. I wonder for a moment what Katniss thinks of her ensemble, then smile. I'm sure she loves it. No more playing the innocent sweetheart of Panem, which I know is wearing on her.

When I arrive at the Remake Center I am greeted by a social scene befitting more a party than the night before we all will fight to the death. I knew what to expect coming into this evening, but I am still a bit shocked by the ease and joy with which many of the tributes are conversing.

I frown slightly as I recognize Finnick Odair speaking with Katniss in the corner of the room. His reputation preceded him, of course, but I know better than to judge him solely based on that. Personally I don't quite know what to make of him. We'd had a brief encounter on the elevator which had simply left me confused.

"Peeta!" he had called cheerily as I stepped onto the elevator. I had responded politely, unsure what his purpose was in acting so friendly. The ride was long, and he filled in with meaningless small talk, to which I responded curtly.

Eventually, he sighed. "Sure are dull, aren't you, Lover Boy?" he asked, using my nickname from the first Games. "I get the feeling you're fiancée might be a little too much for you to handle." He flashed his white teeth at me in a suggestive grin. "You let me know if you ever need some help…taking care of her," he slurred seductively. I clenched my fists tightly, unwilling to let him get under my skin. Finnick only laughed.

"Don't worry, I won't touch her. You know," he continued thoughtfully. "Most people think Katniss is the tough one. But in the arena, I think I'll be more scared of you. I can see you'd do anything for her—and that's dangerous for the rest of us. Don't get too confident though—'Anything' isn't always enough." He then had turned away. "That's something I know well," he muttered softly, so I was unsure if I was even supposed to hear. A trace of bitterness had crept into his voice and I sensed he wasn't talking about the Games any more. He brushed past me without a word as the doors opened, and in his gaze I recognized an inexplicable sadness.

Yes, Finnick is something of an enigma to me, and I am wary of his talking with Katniss. Intending to interrupt the conversation, I make my way across the room, but he scurries away before I reach them.

"What did Finnick Odair want?" I ask casually. My heart jumps slightly as she leans in close to me, her breath tickling my ear as she whispers seductively.

"He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets."

I laugh as she pulls back, smiling. "Ugh. Not really." Although to be honest it sounds consistent with what Finnick had said to me.

"Really," she confirms. "I'll tell you more when my skin stops crawling." I'm glad she wasn't flattered by Finnick's advances. Objectively, I know Finnick is very attractive. Though I know Katniss sees deeper than that, I am still glad to see it confirmed.

I glance around at all the victors around us. Somehow, they seem so foreign to me, though I know out of all of Panem they probably feel closest to the way we do. Still, I think the intervening ears have differentiated them from us. I look at Katniss, and suddenly I realize that she is probably the only thing that has kept me sane these past few months. "Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us had won?" I ask, voicing my thoughts to Katniss. "Just another part of the freak show?"

"Sure," she replies, knocking her shoulder against mine playfully. "Especially you."

I pretend to be offended, but quickly smile. "And why especially me?"

She raises her nose in the air, acting superior. "Because you have a weakness for beautiful things that I don't."

"Having an eye for beauty isn't the same as a weakness," I protest, though I'm actually impressed with her observation. "Expect possibly when it comes to you,' said honestly, and for once she doesn't look uncomfortable with the compliment. Before she can respond, though, the music starts, signaling that the Opening Ceremonies are soon to start. "Shall we?" I ask, offering her my hand to help her into the chariot.

"Hold still," she says, once we are both inside. She gently straightens my crown, and the gesture feels so genuine and comfortable that I can't help but smile. "Have you seen your suit turned on? We're going to be fabulous again."

"Absolutely," I agree. "But Portia says we're to be very above it all. No waving or anything. Where are they, anyway?" I ask, glancing around for Portia and Cinna, but they are nowhere to be found.

"I don't know." She follows my gaze, but can't find them either. "Maybe we better go ahead and switch ourselves on." I comply, and within moments of our suits beginning to glow we already are becoming the talk of everyone.

"Are we supposed to hold hands this year?" Katniss asks, and I notice her looking once again for our stylists. It is strange, that they aren't here with us. Last year they stayed with us till the start of the ceremonies—I suppose this was just another way for the Capitol to toy with us.

"I guess they've left it up to us," I reply, looking steadily into her eyes. Despite her heavy makeup I have no trouble finding the girl I love beneath it. Her clear gray eyes pierce mine, and I'm reminded again of every reason why I am prepared to die for her. Staring at her in that brief moment, I feel as if no one has ever understood me more completely, and without really pausing to consider I stretch my hand out toward hers, surprised to find her own small fingers meeting mine halfway.

We will go into this as one.

I had initially expected it to be challenging to ignore the crowd and their attentions, to act as if none of it mattered to me. But as we roll into the hysteric audience I find that the clamor is muffled in my ears. Their faces blurred in my eyes. The only solid thing I have is the feeling of Katniss' hand in mine. We don't grip each other tightly, as we did before. Our hands are loosely intertwined, yet it somehow seems more intimate. We aren't holding onto each other to comfort ourselves from our nerves. We are not nervous. We are unforgiving. We hold to each other because we can, not because we need to. Because the Capitol cannot take that away from us.

I break my steadfast gaze for a moment and look at Katniss, who despite her stone cold stare looks more at ease than I have seen her in a long while. She is finally getting to be herself as she has always longed to be. I feel a similar sense of relief at not having to play the innocent boy for the moment, but I'm also reminded what it took for me to lose my naiveté, and a deep sadness washes briefly over me.

When we finally reenter the Training Center, Cinna and Portia are there to greet us and rave about our performance. Haymitch is standing nearby with Chaff, an old victor I recognize from footage we'd watched in preparation for this year's Games. His District 11 partner, Seeder, stands nearby, though not really a part of Haymitch and Chaff's conversation. Katniss' and my hands are still clasped together, and I'm pulled close too as Seeder throws her arms around Katniss.

"The families?" I hear her whisper, worrying about Thresh and Rue's family. My stomach clenches with fear in the brief second before Seeder responds, "They're alive."

It feels as if a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders, but before I can really process the news Chaff throws his arms around Katniss, pushing me aside, and plants a kiss on her mouth.

Katniss jerks backward, a shocked and somewhat disgusted look on her face. I can't decide if I should laugh or be sympathetic. I end up joining in as Haymitch guffaws, and then break off as Katniss gives me a disgruntled look. With a sheepish grin, I grab her hand again and pretend to look upset as we are ushered toward the elevators.

I catch Johanna Mason from District 7 out of the corner of my eye as she comes up behind Katniss. "Isn't my costume awful?" she asks. I can't help but agree—I don't think anyone would willingly be dressed as a tree. "My stylist's the biggest idiot in the Capitol. Our tributes have been trees for forty years under her. Wish I'd gotten Cinna. You look fantastic."

Her comments are clearly directed at Katniss, so I remain silent and wait for her response. "Yeah, he's been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he can do with velvet." I have to hide a smile as I listen to Katniss' forced and uncomfortable words. I wonder if Johanna can pick it up, too, or if it's only because I know Katniss so well.

"I have. On your tour. That strapless number you wore in District Two? The deep blue one with the diamonds? So gorgeous I wanted to reach through the screen and tear it right off your back." Katniss' eyes narrow, and she looks as if she took that comment as a threat.

I try to think of something to say to distract Katniss, but lose my train of thought as Johanna unzips her costume and shimmies out of it, kicking it away from her when it is finally off. "That's better," she sighs, eyeing Katniss a bit mockingly. Katniss looks so incredibly shocked and uncomfortable that once again I have to fight the urge to laugh. I realize something about the two of us, then. That despite everything, Katniss is still more innocent than I. Not in a conventional way, of course, but innocent nonetheless. Sure, she can kill—and has. And sure, she is probably considered the most dangerous woman by the Capitol. But while she may seem bitter and aggressive, I still see the little girl in the red plaid dress in her, and I know I would do anything to protect that pureness in her, if just for a little while longer.

Johanna makes casual conversation with me as we ride the elevator, grinning the entire time. I manage to keep my cool, unwilling to give her the same satisfaction of seeing me flounder as Katniss is. But really, I just find the whole situation rather amusing. When Johanna breezes off, I hear Katniss give a disgusted sigh as she throws my hand aside. Now that it's just us, I don't feel the need to keep composed anymore, and I burst out laughing.

"What?" she demands, turning to face me again.

"It's you, Katniss. Can't you see?" I chuckle.

"What's me?" she asks, and I can sense her growing frustrated.

"Why they're all acting like this. Finnick with his sugar cubes and Chaff kissing you and that whole thing with Johanna stripping down." I try to hide my smile, but fail. "They're playing with you because you're so…you know." I struggle to find words to express what I mean to her. For someone as generally as observant as her, Katniss is often incredibly lacking in self-awareness, or in how others perceive her. She doesn't get how there's something the rest of us have lost that she still has.

"No, I don't know," she responds, looking confused and slightly angry.

"It's like when you wouldn't look at me naked in the arena even though I was half dead." By that point it wouldn't have mattered to most people—it certainly didn't matter to me. But Katniss…Somehow despite everything, all the unforgivable things we had done, she had preserved some sense of morals that the rest of us long ago discarded. The only thing that bothers me anymore is the thought of losing Katniss. "You're so…pure," I say, finally finding a word to describe what I mean.

"I am not!" she protests. "I've been practically ripping your clothes off every time there's been a camera for the last year!"

I shake my head. "Yeah, but…I mean, for the Capitol you're pure," I add, trying to pacify her. I didn't mean to make her upset—in fact I meant it as a compliment. "For me, you're perfect. They're just teasing you."

"No, they're laughing at me, and so are you!" she complains, still angry with me.

"No," I say again, but she's not paying attention to me any more. I sigh as she turns toward Haymitch and Effie again. For a moment I wish I hadn't said anything at all. I didn't want her to be mad at me so close to the end. I hadn't meant to offend her. She didn't even hear me when I said she was perfect to me, despite the fact that I've never said truer words. Now with her backed turned to me, her posture gone rigid, all I could think of was the hours that would be wasted letting her cool off. And with so few hours left, I can't think of anything worse.


	8. Paintint Rue

Painting Rue

**Well over halfway there now! I'm going to start rereading _Mockingjay _soon and picking out its moments! Very excited. Remember, you can always suggest a moment you would like to see to me-I may not have thought of it but I always like to hear what other people think are the most important moments.**

**As always, your support has been incredible, and I thank you. Please keep reading and reviewing!  
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As Seeder is finally ushered away to the Gamemakers, Katniss and I are left alone at last, and I sigh, releasing my pent up nerves. I take Katniss' hands, just needing to feel her close.

"Decided what to do for the Gamemakers yet?" I ask, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. I'm hoping she says yes—Katniss is rash to say the least, and the repercussions of her unplanned decisions terrify me.

Unfortunately, she shakes her head. "I can't really use them for target practice this year, with the force field up and all. Maybe some fishhooks." I roll my eyes, knowing Katniss would never do something as mundane as make fishhooks. "What about you?"

"Not a clue," I reply, equally unsure as Katniss. "I keep wishing could bake a cake or something."

"Do some more camouflage," she suggests, which is actually a pretty good idea.

"If the morphlings have left me anything to work with," I say with a smile. Though I had been wary of them at first, they have sort of grown on me throughout the training. I'm not disgusted by their addiction—now I see it as simply coping with the hand they have been dealt by the Capitol. "They've been glued to that station since training started."

Katniss is silent for a moment, then bursts out, "How are we going to kill these people, Peeta?" she asks, dismay written on her face.

I lay my head on our hands, the weight of her words forcing it down. "I don't know," I answer honestly, Now that I've gotten to know some of the tributes, the idea of killing them is that much more despicable. In a way, I'm glad I am the one who won't be coming out of these Games. After everything I will have to do, I'm not sure I could live with myself.

"I don't want them as allies. Why did Haymitch want us to get to know them? It'll make it so much harder than last time." Her voice grows soft and pained. "Except for Rue, maybe. But I guess I never really could've killed her, anyway. She was just too much like Prim."

I look up at Katniss, concerned at the sadness in her voice. "Her death was the most despicable, wasn't it?" I think about Rue, so young yet expected to do so much. I remember the way she looked covered in flowers, and how her scared face had grown peaceful as Katniss sang to her.

"None of them were very pretty," Katniss whispers. It's true—each and every death in the Games was despicable. But there is something about Rue's that makes is so much worse. She was just a child, and so innocent. Too young to have her life taken away from her. As I am led to the Gamemakers, I feel a seething rage within me. It is that Capitol that did this—the Capitol killed her, and they will kill me too. And as I see the Gamemakers sitting there, their disfigured faces in the latest "fashion," I suddenly realize what I am going to do. They need to know what they have done, and still plan to do, by forcing us into the Games. They need to see the innocent they corrupt, the lives they steal, and the grief they cause.

Without addressing the Gamemakers, I walk over to the camouflage materials, which, I am relived to see, have been restocked. I carry some over to the wall directly across from the Gamemakers, and without a word begin to paint.

I don't think about the colors or technique or anything like that while I paint. All I see is Rue's young face, frozen in death, as my hands sweep across the wall and turn it into an accusation.

When I'm finished, I take a step back and observe my word. I hear commotion from the Gamemakers behind me, but I ignore them for the time being. It is a faithful depiction of Rue, covered in flowers as she died. She looks young, innocent and pure—all the things the Capitol would not want he seen as. I turn and face the Gamemakers, a satisfied smile on my face. Their expressions range from fear to anger to hatred, but it doesn't matter to me now.

"That will be all, Mr. Mellark," one of them says through clenched teeth, and I am escorted rather forcefully from the room. I'm led to my personal chambers, where I promptly get in the bath to wash of the stain of colors on my skin.

In the warm, calming water, the possible ramifications of my actions start forming in my head, and I feel a sinking in my stomach. After worrying about Katniss making a rash decision, I had done exactly that, and I feared what that might mean for me—and by extension, Katniss—in the Games.

It's several hours before I'm called down for dinner. I don't see Katniss in the intervening hours, and I long to hear how her session went. When she finally enters the dining room, I notice her looking slightly guilty, but I don't get a chance to ask her what is wrong before Haymitch poses a question.

"All right, so how did your private sessions go?"

I see Katniss trying to catch my eye, and from the look on her face I realize we may have done something similar in our sessions. "You first," she says. "It must have been really special. I had to wait 40 minutes to go in."

I bite my lip nervously, trying to force the words out. I know Effie will be horrified and Haymitch furious, but I hope Katniss won't be disappointed in me. "Well, I—I did the camouflage thing like you suggested Katniss." I pause, then with a frown add, "Not exactly camouflage. I mean, I used the dyes."

"To do what?" asks Portia.

Katniss' eyes flash. "You painted something, didn't you? A picture."

I look at her quickly.

"Did you see it?" What angle would they be playing if they had left my painting up?

But Katniss shakes her head. "No. But they'd made a real point of covering it up."

"Well, that would be standard," Effie interjects. "They can't let one tribute know what another did. What did you paint, Peeta?" Was it a picture of Katniss?" I almost laugh when I see Effie's eyes watering. With everything happening I had forgotten that Katniss and I were still the star-crossed lovers in the eyes of many in the Capitol.

"Why would he paint a picture of me, Effie?" Katniss asks in the annoyed tone she often uses with Effie.

"To show he's going to do everything he can to defend you. That's what everyone in the Capitol is expecting, anyway. Didn't he volunteer to go in with you?"

Now that Effie mentions it, it does seem like the more obvious—and safe—choice. But I can't make myself regret what I did.

"Actually, I painted a picture of Rue. How she looked after Katniss had covered her in flowers."

There's a shocked silence for several moments before Haymitch speaks. "And what exactly were you trying to accomplish?" he asks. Though he speaks in a calm, measured voice, his anger is apparent underneath it.

I shrug. "I'm not sure. I just wanted to hold them accountable, if only for a moment. For killing that little girl." I glance up at Katniss, afraid of what I might see. Instead of disappointment or worry, though, she looks almost…gratified.

"This is awful," Effie exclaims. "That sort of thinking…it's forbidden, Peeta. Absolutely. You'll only bring down more trouble on yourself and Katniss."

"I have to agree with Effie on this one," Haymitch says, his brow creasing. I try to look ashamed, though I'm not. I do regret the implications it may have for Katniss—and for that alone I don't think I'd do it again—but I won't apologize for what I did.

"I guess this is a bad time to mention I hung a dummy and painted Seneca Crane's name on it," Katniss adds bluntly, her hands hanging limply at her side.

The shock in the room is almost tangible, followed quickly by disappointment. I, however, want to laugh at the irony of the situation, though I refrain.

"You…hung…Seneca Crane?" chokes Cinna.

"Yes," Katniss responds, looking wary but speaking with a defiant edge to her voice. "I was showing off my new know-tying skills, and somehow he ended up at the end of a noose."

"Oh, Katniss," Effie laments. "How did you even know about that?"

"Is it a secret? President Snow didn't act like it was. In fact, he seemed eager for me to know." I suppose it was just another way to threaten us, to make us feel as if it was hopeless, the Capitol too powerful. Effie is too upset to stay, and quickly leaves the table, wiping tears from her eyes. "Now I've upset Effie. I should have lied and said I shot some arrows."

I smile knowingly at Katniss. "You'd have though we planned it," I comment. I wonder how it is that we thought so similarly today.

"Didn't you? Asks Portia, looking distressed.

"No," Katniss says, looking at me appreciatively. "Neither of us knew what we were going to before we went in."

I smile slightly again. Were Katniss and I so alike because what we had gone through had made us this way, or were we actually innately similar? I like to think it was the latter. That he Games just brought together and evolved two people who were already suited for each other—although I know that is not how she feels. Still, as she looks at me, I sense something new in her gaze, and I am undeniably sad I will not be around to see what it might turn into. As I look at Katniss, the girl I love, I realize that I don't want anyone else with us in the Games. Just us—as it should be.

"And Haymitch?" I add. "We decided we don't want any other allies in the arena."

"Good," he says gruffly. "Then I won't be responsible for you killing off any of my friends with your stupidity." Without even looking at us Kaymitch gets up from the table and wlks out the door, leading the procession to where the screens are so we can get our scores.

I hoped to be next to Katniss as we walk, but she is being escorted by Cinna already. I sit behind them, next to a disappointed Portia and a fuming Haymitch.

"Have they ever given a zero?" I hear Katniss ask.

"No, but there's a first time for everything," Cinna answers. I wouldn't be at all surprised if they gave us both zeros. It would undoubtedly make it impossible for us to get sponsors, thereby dramatically decreasing or chances of survival. However, when our scores are finally flashed don the screen, I am utterly taken aback. Twelves. Both of us. It takes me a moment to catch my breath and order my thoughts, looking at the dismayed faces around us. I realize the Capitol may have well just painted two large targets on our backs.

"Why would they do that?" Katniss asks, not reaching the conclusion as quickly as I did.

"So that the others have no choice but to target you," Haymitch answers, emotionless. "Go to bed. I can't stand to look at either of you." He turns away abruptly, and suddenly I feel guilt and sadness wash over me over what we have caused for Haymitch. Though none of us may always see eye to eye, a deep level of respect, trust and friendship has developed between us, and I know our deaths will be a painful experience for Haymitch, even if he may deny it.

I walk Katniss down to her room silently, not having any words for this occasion. I open my mouth to say goodnight, but she wraps her arms around my neck and presses her efface against my chest. Carefully, as if she might somehow go away, I clutch her to me and lay my head against hers, breathing in the moment. It's times like these when all her guards are down that I cherish more than anything. "I'm sorry if I made things worse," she murmurs into my chest.

"No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyway?" I ask as she pulls back slightly to look at me, though I still keep her in my arms.

"I don't know. To show them that I'm more than just a piece in their Games?"

she says.

I laugh, remembering that night almost exactly a year ago when I had said something similar. Despite everything I have done, I feel I have succeeded in at least this, although it might be the very thing that ills me and Katniss.

"Me, too. And I'm not saying I'm not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I'm perfectly honest about it…"

"If you're perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena."

To hear Katniss voice my thoughts is the purest physical pain. I feel then that I have failed at what was most important to me. I stroke Katniss' hair, trying to memorize everything about her in just a few seconds. "It's crossed my mind," I choke out.

She remains silent, thoughtful. I'm just glad for the moment that she is allowing me to hold her, and that she is genuinely holding me, too.

I realize that though our lives are likely to be forfeit, our deaths can still serve a purpose. I think about the starving people back in District 12. The grieving faces of Rue and Thresh's families. The rebellions from people not getting enough to survive. These people need something to hope for, to fight for, and perhaps we can provide that.

"But even if that happens, everyone will know we've gone out fighting, right?" I ask, and Katniss looks at me thoughtfully, with a gleam in her eyes.

"Everyone will," she agrees.

While I will fight till my very last breath to get Katniss home, I've all but lost hope of success. We've created our fate, and now we must live with what our actions have caused. Still, I am proud of what we have done, and I realize how powerful our deaths can be. In saving Katniss, I had hoped to create a better future for one person, the woman I love. But now I realize that perhaps my death can serve as a catalyst for a better future for all of Panem.

And for that, I will gladly lay down my life.


	9. Last Days

Last Days

**I apologize again for the wait. Trying to be a good friend, I lent someone my copy of Catching Fire. Without realizing I needed it to write! I still haven't got it back...(who takes this long to read a Hunger Games book?) but managed to take a picture of the pages I needed, so voila! Here is the next chapter. **

**Thank you all for the support! I can't believe after so long of a gap I still get emails every day about new reviews, favorites etc. You all are the best!  
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Katniss is quiet in my arms for a few moments. I wonder what is going on inside her head, but I don't ask for fear of interrupting the moment. I just want to hold her, even for just a little longer. I am gratified that she doesn't pull away when she starts speaking, instead her breath tickling my collarbone as she speaks. "So what should we do with our last few days?"

I give her a small squeeze and answer honestly, "I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you." I always recognize the danger when I make statements like these—that she will shut down, or shut me out, or somehow manage to hurt my heart more than it already has been. But things seem different now, though I can't put my finger on exactly how. My feelings for Katniss have never changed, but hers for me…Well, it is probably just wishful thinking. Still, I can't help but be elated when she pulls me into her room with a smile.

"Come on then," she says when I hesitate for a moment.

I hadn't been inside Katniss' room in the Capitol yet. It is strikingly similar to mine—luxurious, but also empty. Her bed is unmade and small messes are scattered here and there, and I realize she hasn't allowed anyone in here, even to clean. Except for me. She escapes into the bathroom, reappearing a few moments later in the silken pajamas provided for her by the Capitol. I'd refrained from changing, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, but she tosses an extra pair at me.

After I've changed, Katniss sits on her bed waiting for me, her knees curled up to her chin. I crawl in next to her, gently sliding my arm around her and pulling her down beside me so that she is resting against my chest. I feel her relax as she makes herself comfortable in my arms, and I softly press a kiss to her temple. "Goodnight, Katniss," I whisper.

"Goodnight, Peeta," she yawns in reply, and falls asleep within moments. I'd thought I would be too anxious to sleep, but with Katniss' warmth beside me I find it hard to grasp any concrete thoughts, and before long I am asleep, too.

I wake in the morning—or at least I assume it's morning by the light streaming through the windows—as Katniss moves beside me, just waking herself. "No nightmares?" I ask, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.

"No nightmares," she repeats in confirmation. "You?"

"None," I say with a smile. "I'd forgotten what a real night's sleep feels like." She nods in agreement. I make no move to get up, and neither does Katniss. For a while we just lay there, and to me it seems as if nothing can harm us here. At the moment, I feel safe, though I know it won't last.

We are at last interrupted by a quick knock on the door. "Ignore it," I murmur, unwilling to let Katniss go. She doesn't go at first, but at the second knock she sighs and unwillingly gets up. Behind the door is the Avox girl, who shoves a note into Katniss' hands with a brief bow and then retreats.

"What's it say?" I ask, sitting up on the bed to face Katniss.

"Training's been cancelled," Katniss says, coming to sit beside me, though not as close as we were before. "Apparently, Haymitch and Effie feel we 'are able to handle ourselves adequately in public.'" She laughs. "I didn't know there was ever any doubt about you."

I laugh too, but I can't believe we are actually free for the day. "Really?" I ask, just to be certain. "Do you know what this means? We'll have the whole day to ourselves." The idea of having Katniss, alone and uninterrupted, for an entire day seems almost too good to be true.

"It's to bad we can't go somewhere," she says a bit longingly. I frown slightly. It's true that in the hustle and bustle of the Capitol—and particularly the area tributes are ensconced in—it's hard to really be alone. Suddenly I'm struck by an idea, a place we can be alone but without the risk of defying the Capitol.

"Who says we can't?" I ask, grabbing her hand and pulling her with me to the kitchens as I tell her my plan. She gives me one of her rare, truly genuine smiles when I tell her about going to the roof and enthusiastically orders food from the chef.

My arms are full with two baskets of delicious Capitol food, and Katniss' with the blankets she thought to bring, as we make our way to the elevator and up to the roof. It's a gorgeous, sunny day outside, and as I predicted the roof is completely empty. We spread out the blankets, creating an island on the cement just for us. A light scent wafts around us from the delicate flowers, and as I hear Katniss' laugh echoing around me I almost feel as if this were all a dream.

Under the soft morning sun Katniss and I relax, far removed from our troubles for the moment. She begins to practice some of the knot making skills she recently acquired, looking so concentrated and peaceful. I had brought my sketchbook, and I try to surreptitiously sketch her, not wanting to forget this moment. But she notices what I'm doing pretty quickly.

"What are you drawing?" she asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

I grin sheepishly. "You." I expect her to be mad and walk away, because I know she doesn't like this kind of attention from me. At the very least I expect her to be embarrassed and ask me to stop. Instead, she shocks me yet again.

After a brief hesitation, Katniss says, "Oh. Um, do you want me to look at you or something?"

I smile again, glad she's allowing this. "No. I like it better kind of candid. Just keep doing what you are doing." She acquiesces, and though for the next few minutes she looks slightly uncomfortable before long she relaxes back into her concentrated trance.

"Finished," I call out about twenty minutes later. "Do you want to see it?" She walks slowly over to me, and I'm pretty sure she only is coming to look at it so she doesn't hurt my feelings. I think she fears the way I see her, as someone who is in love with her. I tried not to let those feelings color my sketch, however, and simply capture her in her own beauty. It's a rough drawing, to say the least, but I think it is pretty true to its form. Katniss studies it for several minutes, her fingers gently tracing the strokes of my pencil.

"It's lovely, Peeta," she replies softly, gripping my hand and giving it a slight squeeze. "It looks just like me."

"Thanks. Do you want it?" I ask, moving to tear it out of my sketchbook.

She shakes her head. "No. You keep it. For…later." Though she says no more than that, I know what she means. Later. As in when I make it out of the Games, and she doesn't. But I won't let that happen. I'm about to protest, but she interrupts me before I get the chance.

"Let's play a game, Peeta," she suggests, tossing an apple between her hands. "Catch!" she yells and I automatically throw my hands up, but she throws the apple in the opposite direction, right off the roof.

Until it bounces back.

Luckily my hands are still up, and I manage to block my face with them, or else I think that apple might have broken my nose. Katniss laughs as it rolls to the ground and stops again at her feet. "A little warning might have been nice!" I complain, massaging my hand where the apple made contact.

"They aren't going to give you warning in the Games," she says mischievously, hurling it back at the force field. This time I'm prepared, and manage to catch the apple as it flies toward me. Without a pause I throw it back, this time trying to catch Katniss off guard. No success, however, as she expertly catches it with one hand.

This game goes on for a while, until eventually we are both hungry and Katniss comes and sits on the blanket beside me, our knees just barely touching. We eat and we talk about anything and everything. Everything, that is, but the one thing neither of us will admit: that we plan on sacrificing ourselves for the other. Somehow Katniss ends up lying with her head in my lap, and I play with her hair, pretending to tie knots so it seems like I am doing something useful.

Today is a new kind of pain. To have the most perfect day be one of my last, I'm not sure if that is a blessing or a curse. I'm glad I'll have this memory with me at the end, but now I wish more than ever that the end didn't have to come.

"I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever," I tell Katniss after she asks me what's wrong. Again, I expect her to be uncomfortable, and again she surprises me.

She closes her eyes and sighs out, "Okay."

I begin stroking her head again, smiling. "Then you'll allow it?"

"I'll allow it," she replies, and then drifts off to sleep.

I sit there for the next hour or so as Katniss sleeps, playing with her hair, perfectly content. Slowly, the sky begins to change, beautiful yellows and oranges mixing with the white clouds behind the tall skyline of the Capitol. I shake Katniss awake. "I didn't think you'd want to miss this," I say, and she gives me a grateful smile and a thank you before turning her attention to the sunset. She doesn't move or speak, and her face remains rather emotionless, but I know what she is thinking, because it is what I am thinking, too.

How many sunsets do we have left?

Dinnertime comes and goes, but neither of us makes any move to leave our sanctuary. Having this freedom, this peace, is too good to leave. "I'm glad," I say of our decision not to go to dinner. "I'm tired of making everyone around me so miserable. Everybody crying. Or Haymitch…" I let the thought wander of, because Katniss seems to understand.

When at last the blackness of the sky engulfs us—for no stars are visible among the Capitol lights—I stand and reach for Katniss' hand. She takes it, gripping it tightly as we walk back down to her room. There is need for words; our day has made the silent agreement for us and I follow her inside. We are both too exhausted to even change, and so I simply crawl into bed beside her and hold her tightly, wishing I could shield her from all the pain and longing I am feeling.

Too soon we are woken by Katniss' prep team, despite the fact that they seem rather subdued. Rather than knocking, they charge right in, so Katniss and I are still tangled in each other's arms. Groggily I roll over, in time to see one of the three—Octavia, I think—burst into tears at the sight of us. She is reprimanded by the other woman and flees the room.

Reluctantly, Katniss and I stand. "Peeta, your own prep team needs you," Venia says, a little hitch in her voice as she speaks. I nod and turn to Katniss. She wraps her arms around my neck and holds me tight for a quick second.

"See you soon," she whispers into my ear. I try to smile, but don't really succeed as I'm ushered out of her room and to my own prep team, without even a chance to say my own goodbye.


	10. Interview

Interview

**Just t****hree left, I can't believe it****! Very excited about the next couple, especially leading in to _Mockingjay_. Reread it last week, and oh my did the tears fall. I am so looking forward to the next story, already planning things! It's going to be so emotional.**

**Thank you all for sticking it with me this far. Enjoy!  
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I catch my breath as Katniss steps off the stage, her dress' transformation shocking me as much as the rest of the crowd. She looks beautiful…but frightened. I want to comfort her, but I can't. Not when I am frightened myself. I hate to admit it, but I am terrified of what they can do to us, and to everyone we care about. I can't save everyone. I know that. But I am going to try _everything _to try to save Katniss.

I can't make eye contact as I pass by her to mount the stage. I know what I have to do next—I've been planning it for days now—and I can't let anything get in the way of that. Because it might save her. Even though I know she might hate me for it.

"So, Peeta, we meet again," Cinna prods cheerfully as I take my seat beside him. "What did you think of Katniss' flaming attire?"

"It was fantastic," I respond, though not quite as enthusiastically as I think Caesar expected. "Only, the burning feathers kind of remind me of the smell of cooked chicken back home," I add, trying to force myself back into the seemingly easy banter with Caesar. He throws back his head and lets out two sharp laughs at my response.

Caesar tries to keep the repartee going—it's a crowd pleaser—but I'm not really into it, and he senses it pretty quickly. Shifting in his seat to face me a little closer, he leans his head forward and asks, "So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you've been through, you found out about the Quell?"

_Like the world had kept turning, but I had stopped moving in it. As if I could see my hopes and dreams crumbling to ashes around me, too far gone to ever have hope of being reconstructed. _A million words of pain and despair swim in my eyes, but I try to keep my answers simple, and non-accusatory. "I was in shock. I mean, one minute I'm seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next…" I trail off. It's an honest, if underwhelming answer.

"You realized there was never going to be a wedding?" Caesar asks, his voice softening.

I don't answer right away, instead wringing my hands and trying to act nervous. I glance at the audience, all of them waiting anxiously. I've learned after all this time how to play the audience, so I wait for a few more moments, glancing around as if hesitating over my response. "Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?" I ask, gesturing out to the audience.

Caesar looks a little shocked, but responds quickly, "I feel quite certain of it."

"We're already married," I say quietly, but with a small smile on my face. As the crowd erupts, I chance a quick glance at Katniss. Her face is buried in her skirt, whether because she doesn't know how to react or because she's angry I've pulled something like this again I'm not sure. I hope it's not the latter, because there is worse coming.

Eventually the roar of the crowd quiets enough for Caesar to ask, "But…how can that be?"

I shake my head, "Oh, it's not an official marriage. We didn't go the Justice Building or anything. I don't know what it's like in other districts. But there's this thing we do in District 12. Normally it happens after the couple goes to the Justice Building, but we didn't do that. I guess we've never really been your typical couple, though," I add with a sheepish grin. "Anyway, it's called the marriage toasting. After the ceremony, it's just the couple alone in their home together. They make their first fire as a married couple, toast a piece of bread over it, and share it."

"And you and Katniss did this?"

I nod. "She came over one night, and I told her I couldn't wait any longer. That I loved her so much and since I knew I wanted to be with her forever, why wait? She agreed with me because, while we were both so honored that the Capitol offered to host our wedding," I add this in though I almost gag on the words, "we wanted part of our wedding to be just for us." I barely finish the sentence before I feel my throat closing with emotion. This was the kind of wedding I've always wanted with Katniss. No fancy dresses, no lavish ceremony. Just us, content in our love. I'll never get that chance now.

"Were your families there?" Caesar questions.

"No, we didn't tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss' mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol there wouldn't be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it," I say. "And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us."

"So this was before the Quell?" Caesar asks, keeping the interview going despite the contented sighs from the crowd over my last statement.

"Of course before the Quell. I'm sure we'd never have done it after we knew." I contract my eyebrows and stare intently at Caesar. "But who could've seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere—I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?" Despite my best efforts, I can't help but let the blame color my statement a little. I think I've said enough to get people thinking about the injustice, but without the Capitol being able to condemn me for my words—at least, that's what I was going for. I begin to act upset, and Caesar notices and responds sympathetically by putting an arm bracingly around my shoulder.

"You couldn't, Peeta," he replies gently. "As you say, no one could've. But I have to confess, I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together." The crowd bursts into applause, completely in agreement with Caesar. _I wish we had even that_, I think. To be honest, the only time I remember being completely happy is that last day on the roof, when it was just me and Katniss, and the world fell away and I could pretend that, just maybe, we could have a future together.

But I can't let memories cloud my purpose. I've planned this moment, because whatever it takes I have to save Katniss. I have no guarantees, but I have to try. So I shake my head to clear my thoughts and fix a miserable look on my face—not hard, given my recent train of thought. "I'm not glad. I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially."

The audience seems confused, even Caesar appears taken aback by this revelation. "Surely even a brief time is better than no time?" he asks, looking at the audience for their approval.

I take a breath. This is the moment again. The moment where everything changes. With a few words I'll have set off a bomb amongst the audience and the districts—and perhaps alienated myself further from Katniss. With a bitter voice, I reply, "Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar, if it weren't for the baby."

That's it. The audience erupts into cries and tears and calls for a change in the rules. While I know that's improbable—if not impossible—I'm glad to see my confession has had the effect I desired. Katniss, already an icon and crowd favorite, is now with child. Snow will think twice about killing her in the arena, now, because of the backlash from the people, especially when so many are already close to rebellion.

There's no regaining control of the audience. Their cries of injustice and despair at our fates overpower even Caesar's best attempts to silence them, and with a nod I leave the stage. As I walk back to my seat on the side, I catch Katniss' gaze, just for a moment. In her face I see the promise of everything that could've been: the life we could have shared, the love we could've known. And beyond that, I see how the Capitol could have taken it away from us. I see the faces of nameless children dying for their sick games, and suddenly the uproar from the audience means so much more than just saving Katniss' life. Tears stream down my face as I look down the line of tributes, and I make no move to disguise them. Let them see me cry. Let them know that I am in pain. Perhaps it will mean more in the end. The looks I see painted on the faces of Finnick, of Mags and Beetee, Wiress and the Morphlings and all the rest, mirror my own feelings, and in that moment I felt as if we were one. As the anthem plays, I reach out for Katniss' hand, wanting to show that unity. Seconds pass as we all stand, martyrs for a crime we did not commit. As if from a single thought, all down the lines the tributes join hands as Katniss and I have. For a brief moment we stand as one, broadcast throughout the Capitol, before they shut the screen off. But the damage is done—across Panem they have seen us standing together, refusing to be the warring pieces the Capitol wishes. And as I remember the sparks of District 8, I have a flicker of hope that perhaps there is still a chance of a better future.

The next few minutes are a blur of motion and sound, though none of it really registers with me. The only thing that matters is keeping Katniss' hand firmly grasped in mine. I eventually lead us to an elevator, and mercifully we ride to our rooms alone. When we step out, I stop Katniss and grip her urgently on the shoulders. "There isn't much time, so tell me," I request. "Is there anything I have to apologize for?"

Without pause, she answers, "Nothing." I can't contain a sigh of relief, and I feel my whole body relax, though I know we are anything but safe now. Still, with Katniss firmly by my side nothing seems so daunting now.

Haymitch appears from the next elevator, and for once he doesn't look angry, or disappointed, or even particularly drunk. Instead, he seems to be trying very hard to remain emotionless. "It's madness out there. Everyone's been sent home and they've canceled the recap of the interviews on television."

Katniss drags me to the window, and we observe the pandemonium below us. "What are they saying?" I ask. "Are they asking the president to stop the Games?" While I know he won't, I'm very curious as to how Snow would respond to such requests.  
>"I don't think they know themselves what to ask. The whole situation is unprecedented. Even the idea of opposing the Capitol's agenda is a source of confusion for the people here," Haymitch replies, running a hand wearily through his hair. "But there's no way Snow would cancel the Games. You know that, right?" I know this, and from the grim look on Katniss' face, she does too.<p>

"The others went home?" she asks, her voice sounding somehow small.

"They were ordered to. I don't know how much luck they're having getting through the mob," says Haymitch.

"Then we'll never see Effie again." This realization hits me harder than I would've thought. Effie, and her effervescent personality. Though at times she could be infuriating and unconcerned with the bigger picture, she was still _our _Effie, endearing and a bit naïve. And we will never get the chance to say goodbye. "You'll give her our thanks," I add, wanting to be sure she at least knows we are grateful, despite how it may have seemed.

"More than that," Katniss adds, her words heartfelt. "Really make it special. It's Effie, after all. Tell her how appreciative we are and how she was the best escort ever and tell her…tell her we send our love."

I give Katniss' hand a squeeze, knowing what must come next, but none of us make a move. Haymitch looks around uncomfortably, anywhere but our faces, though I see his is written with emotion. Katniss just clings to my hand, staring at the ceiling, and I can see tears glistening in her eyes. I'm about to swallow my pain and say it, when Haymitch takes a step forward.

"I guess this is where we say our good-byes as well," he says gruffly.

"Any last words of advice?" I ask, a small, sad smile playing on my lips.

"Stay alive." His voice is hoarse with emotion. He takes two short steps forward and throws his arms around me for a brief moment, and then Katniss. Abruptly he pulls away and adds, "Go to bed. You need your rest."

I wait for Katniss to say something, but she has buried her face in my shoulder and I can tell she's not going to be able to make any sort of good-bye. So, gathering what little composure I have left, I give Haymitch a nod and say past the lump in my throat, "You take care, Haymitch." And somehow, this seems enough.

With sad, slow steps we began to cross the hall to the door, but Haymitch's voice calls out to us one last time. "Katniss, when you're in the arena," he begins, then pauses with a scowl on his face.

"What?" she asks defensively.

"You just remember who the enemy is." Haymitch pauses for a moment, letting his statement sink in. I see Katniss look a bit confused at his statement, and I give her hand a little squeeze: I have no doubt in her, whatever Haymitch might think. "That's all. Now go on. Get out of here." And with that he leaves.

I walk Katniss to her door and then start to pull her hand away, saying, "I just want to stop by my room to take a shower."

But Katniss shakes her head. "No, Peeta, please don't leave," she begs, clutching my hands with both of hers. She looks so vulnerable, so I gather her in my arms and hold her close for a moment. I press a kiss to her temple and reach around her to open the door.

We lie in Katniss' bed, tangled in each other's arms. I don't sleep. I don't even think of it. I know I will never again have a moment like this. Katniss rests with her head on my chest, and from her shallow breathing I know she isn't sleeping either, but we don't talk. In those last few hours before the Games, being together is enough. These last few hours, feeling safe, and warm, and loved—whatever illusion it might be. It seems cruelly early when Cinna and Portia arrive, signaling the beginning of the end.

Reluctantly, I bend down and kiss Katniss lightly on the lips. "See you soon."

"See you soon," she breathes in response.

Portia grips my arm bracingly as we walk out, and turns to me as she closes the door behind us. "You okay?"

I shake my head. "No." How could I be? For this one moment, I am tired of being strong. I kept my composure all day yesterday, because I knew that was what Katniss needed. But I could lose everything in just a few hours, and I'm not prepared. Not even close. "Portia, I _can't _say another good-bye right now," I beg.

She pats my arm, with a sympathetic look on her face. "I know."

I sigh, relieved, as we begin walking again. "Thank you."

"She loves you, you know."

"What?"

"Katniss loves you," Portia states confidently.

I shake my head. "I think she could've. If things had been different, and weren't going to end the way they will." That is the worst part of the Games, that I will never know what might have been. "But that doesn't matter now," I add. "All that matters is that she makes it out of these Games."

Portia tries to protest, but I cut her off. "Stop, please. I appreciate it, really. But I don't want to hear it now. What I want right now is for someone to tell me everything is going to be okay."

Portia clasps both my hands in hers and looks me in the eyes. "Everything will be okay, Peeta," she says earnestly.

I smile gratefully at her and pretend for a moment that my world isn't crumbling around me.

But I can only pretend for so long.


	11. Jabberjays

Jabberjays

**You guys. This is amazing. For some reason this past week I have got a surge of people favoriting/alerting this story again even though it's been a month since I've updated. You are all incredible, and thanks for your support! Please continue reviewing, I absolutely LOVE hearing all of your thoughts and opinions!**

**Just two left now!**

I'm feeling nervous and anxious—Katniss and I have been separated, against my better judgment, but still. If it came down to it, I do think Katniss could take on Finnick in a fight, but I'm not sure her conscience would allow it after everything he has done for us. And in the arena, a second's hesitation can mean the difference between life and death. But even more than that, I'm afraid of what the Gamemakers could do to her in the time we are apart. Especially now that we have lost our bearings in the arena.

"Relax, Loverboy. He's not going to hurt her," Johanna comments, leaning casually against a tree and picking at the dirt caked beneath her fingernails.

"Loverboy?" I ask, laughter behind my voice. "That's not something I get called often, now."

"Yeah, well. It fits you," she states with a shrug. "You're so hopelessly in love with her."

It's strange, because while I know in effect talking about my love for Katniss again will only help us with the Capitol, Johanna's tone doesn't seem to register that we are being filmed. It's as if she is just talking to _me_, not to the Capitol via me.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Depends. It could be. You'd do anything for her. And they know it." She gestures around us vaguely, making it seem as if she could be talking about the other tributes—but I sense she is talking about something a lot bigger than just the Games, and I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach.

"That's never been a secret," I reply warily.

"You're right. But what I don't think you know, but everyone else knows, is that she would do anything for you, too." Johanna meets my gaze unflinchingly, and a smile plays on her lips as if she is enjoying my confusion.

I shake my head, about to protest, when suddenly a scream pierces through the air. My head shoots up, looking for enemies, or for Katniss in danger. But it doesn't sound like her, and it isn't near mature enough to be any of the other tributes. No…As I let the sound settle in my ears, I realize I _do _recognize that voice. But not from any of the Games or my time in the Capitol.

The scream belongs to Prim. Katniss' little sister.

Whatever it is—recording, real, or some mixture of the two—doesn't matter. Prim is the real person Katniss would do anything for, and that means she is running. Right now. And I don't know what is waiting.

I take off running, too, with Johanna on my tail. "Peeta, slow down!" she calls, catching up and grabbing me by the shoulder. I try angrily to shove her off, but she holds fast. "Wait. Something's not right." She points a few yards ahead where a few jabberjays sit in the branches of the trees. I can see their mouths opening and closing, but I don't hear any noise. There's something between us, blocking the noise and who knows what else. Slowly, with my hand outstretched in front of me, I inch my way forward. Within a few feet my hand makes contact with a solid, invisible barrier. I run my hands a few feet in either direction in vain—the barrier extends across the entire arena.

"Dammit," I curse, panic welling in my stomach. I pace nervously, every second I can't see Katniss forming a new and horrible image of what could be happening where I can't reach her.

After a few minutes, Beetee's voice startles me as he calls, "There they are!"

And he's right. I see Katniss and Finnick bolting toward us—too fast, way too fast. I realize they don't know there is a barrier, and I wave my arms frantically to get them to stop, both Johanna and Beetee joining me. But they keep running, not understanding our message, or too desperate to get away from the screams. They both make impact, and I cringe as I see Finnick's nose break, the blood pouring over his face. Katniss hit with her shoulder, and she struggles to stand back up, clutching it as she fixes it back into its socket. I see tear tracks lining her cheeks, and the few inches between us seem unbearably far. I grab my knife and start hacking away at the barrier. "Help me!" I call to Johanna, my voice cracking desperately.

She joins in, relentlessly pounding the barrier with her ax, but it makes no difference. Beetee remains motionless behind us, until eventually he states sadly, "It's no use. Physical attempts will not break this barrier." I don't listen to him at first. Frantically I keep pounding on the barrier until Johanna grips my arm and forces it down.

"Stop, Peeta! You're just hurting yourself," she states, flipping my hands over so I can see the damage I have done. I've been so intent on getting Katniss out that I haven't noticed the times when my knife reflected off the barrier and cut my own hand. Blood seeps out of several long cuts, and as I stare at them they begin to sting. My breathing is ragged, not only from exertion but from fear.

"What do we do then?" I ask, hoping for any sort of solution that will get Katniss out of this.

"Wait," Beetee responds, tilting his head sympathetically to the side. "I would suggest not acting scared. She needs you."

I nod and swallow past the lump in my throat. Trying to force composure on to my face, I turn back to the barrier, where Katniss is staring intently at me, though something in her eyes tells me she isn't really seeing me. Still, when I place my hand against the barrier, she lays hers on the opposite side. No matter how hard I press on the barrier, I still can't feel her through it, and every minute that passes I feel the grip on my heart tightening.

Eventually I start talking, even though she can't hear me. I try to comfort her, but my words are empty and soon I realize that she would hate me for them, because I am promising things I have to guarantee for. So instead, I just tell her I love her. Over and over I repeat it. Because it's the only thing I know is true anymore. She watches me, tears still streaming down her face. But she seems okay, and I think we might just get through this.

Then the birds come.

I can't hear them, but I know they are screaming again. Katniss' back goes rigid, and her hand drops from the barrier. Her expression crumples, and within moments she sprints from the barrier and pulls out her bow, shooting relentlessly at the birds. Several fall, but it's no use, and too soon she realizes this. Broken, she stumbles back to the barrier and sinks beside Finnick, curling her legs up close, the position I know she retreats to when she is trying to block out the world. Her hands migrate to her ears, pressing so hard against them I see her knuckles go white.

I'm biting my lip so hard to keep from screaming that it has started to bleed, but the salty taste barely registers with me. My hand hasn't left the barrier from where she last tried to touch it, as if somehow I could still reach through it and save her.

But I just have to wait.

I waited for Katniss for eleven years. More than half my life I waited for the opportunity to reach her. Yet this last hour, waiting for her, waiting to be able to reach her, comfort her, save her, feels like it might kill me.

It is the most acute pain I can imagine, to watch the one person you love more than anything, who you would do anything for, suffer, while there is _nothing _you can do about it. The world seems to dim around me, and all I see is her—and she is in pain.

Finally, the resistance against my hand disappears, and I almost fall forward. As quick as possible, I gather Katniss into my arms and carry her from the jungle, too worried to even wait for the rest. When I can't stand it any longer, I sink to the ground, cradling Katniss in my lap. She's so tense she doesn't respond at first. Gently I begin to rock her back and forth, rubbing her back and whispering soothing words.

"Katniss, I'm here. I'm not going to let anything hurt you like that now," I whisper, pressing a fierce kiss to her temple. "Katniss, love, look. _Listen_. It's over. You're safe. They're all safe."

Gradually, her muscles begin to relax, and she looks up at me with glassy eyes. "It's all right, Katniss," I assure her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"You didn't hear them," she croaks, her voice hoarse from crying.

"I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn't her," I say urgently. "It was a jabberjay."

"It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it." Her voice is so devoid of emotion it is frightening, and I grip her tighter.

"No, that's what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer's eyes were in that mutt last year." I've come to understand the Capitol in a sense. And I know their biggest goal here is to derail us. And I can't let Katniss give in to that. Because then she will become an easy target. Easy to be killed by another tribute, or an "accident" carefully planned by the Gamemakers. And if she succumbs to either of these, there will be nothing left for me. "Those weren't Glimmer's eyes. And that wasn't Prim's voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying."

"Not, they were torturing her. She's probably dead."

"Katniss, Prim isn't dead," I say, shaking her shoulder gently. I need her to focus, to understand. "How could they kill Prim? We're almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?"

"Seven more of us die," she responds hollowly. My stomach contorts, her words again forcing me to face the reality of the next few days. Seven deaths until she goes home, alone. Six—or fewer—separate me from my final goodbye with Katniss. I close my eyes, granting myself a brief respite, before focusing on Katniss again.

"No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?" I cup her chin in my hand and force her to look at me. "What happens? At the final eight?" I prod urgently.

"At the final eight? They interview your family and friends back home."

"That's right. They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they've killed them all?" I continue, helping her out because I still don't think she sees the point I'm making.

"No?" she asks, as if it were a question.

"No," I confirm. "That's how we know Prim's alive. She'll be the first one they interview, won't she?" I can see her struggling with my words versus the past hour she just experienced. So I keep talking, doing the best I can to assuage her fears. "First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale, Madge. It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we're the only ones who can be hurt by it. We're the ones in the Games. Not them."

"You really believe that?" she whispers.

"I really do."

Still ensconced in my arms, Katniss shifts slightly to look at Finnick. "Do you believe it, Finnick?"

"It could be true," he agrees warily. "I don't know. Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone's regular voice and make it…"

"Oh yes," Beetee states eagerly. "It's not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn similar technique in school."

Johanna steps forward, adding her two cents to our discussion. "Of course Peeta's right. The whole country adores Katniss' little sister. If they really killed her like this, they'd probably have an uprising on their hands. Don't want that now, do they?" Throwing back her head, she yells, "Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn't want anything like that!"

Katniss' and my mouths drop. We glance at each other uneasily, worried at what Johanna's blatant declaration could mean for us. Even though I was upset that she would endanger us like this, I couldn't help but blame her for it. In fact, sometimes I wish I could do something brave like that. Say the things I want to say all the time.

But I can't. Because people could be hurt.

She could be hurt.

And while I no longer have any doubts in the inherent evilness of the Capitol, there is nothing—_nothing_—that is worth that price to me.


	12. The Locket

The Locket

**Embarrassingly long absence. *hides head in shame* I truly do apologize. I just graduated high school, so forgive me for being quite busy. Gonna try to finish this up soon, though! Thank you all so very, very much for the feedback you have given this story. Your words have meant so much. I love you all!**

Absentmindedly, I reach my hand up to feel the cool metal of my locket. Its weight against my chest is the only thing that has been keeping me steady these past few hours. It is my last hope, my last chance, to save her. I just hope it's enough. Given everything I know about her, I'm not sure it will be.

We've managed to figure out the clock again, thankfully. We have supplies enough to hold us out a few days. None of us are injured too badly. Yet somehow I still feel that things are wrapping up. That my time is running short and I haven't done enough. I suppose nothing will be enough until she is safe back in District 12. Though if all goes as planned I won't be around to see it.

"Guess we should get some rest," Finnick says quietly, breaking the silence. He doesn't look like himself-still shaken from the jabberjays, he is hunched slightly and his face hasn't lost that haunted look.

I look to Katniss, who gives me a small smile that breaks my heart. "Katniss and I will take the first watch," I offer, and she laces her fingers in mine. No one protests, leaving us some time on our own as they prepare to sleep. We turn away from everyone as they lay down, instead walking several yards away to the sand, cool with the night's air. We sit together on the beach, in silence at first. I listen to the sounds of the others sleeping, the waves brushing up against the sand, Katniss' soft breathing, just taking it all in.

Because there isn't much left.

Eventually Katniss lays her head against my shoulder, pressed closely to my side. I reach my hand up and caress her head, breathing in the moment. With the end so rapidly apporaching, I want to cherish everything, and I would do almost anything to not have to break such a wonderful silence. But there are more important things, I know, than my happiness. "Katniss," I whisper when I could put it off no longer, pressing a kiss against her temple. "It's no use pretending we don't know what the other one is trying to do." I've known since the beginning that Katniss would try to save me, too. That's just who she is. She couldn't live with herself if she chose herself over someone else.

But I can't live without _her_. Period.

"I don't know what kind of deal you think you've made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well." I think back to our conversation when he had sworn to do whatever it took to save her. It didn't take much to convince him. I think he realizes she is more valuable than I am. Katniss hears my comment with almost no reaction, though, and it's clear she thinks little of it. "So I think we can assume he was lying to one of us."

She perks up at that, eyeing me suspiciously, as if the thought hadn't really occurred to her before. "Why are you saying this now?"

"Because I don't want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die, and I live, there's no life for me at all back in District Twelve." I push a lock of dark hair out of her eyes, tracing my finger along the soft skin of her temple. "You're my whole life. I would never be happy again." I wish she could really understand how much I mean it. There is nothing for me without her. Nothing that matters, at least. She starts to protest, but I notice the second of hesitation before she did, and I lay a finger gently on her lips before she gets a chance. "It's different for you. I'm not saying it wouldn't be hard. But there are other people who'd make your life worth living."

This is the hardest part for me, as I reach for my locket. Haymitch helped me make it, though it had been my idea to begin with. I know the only way to make her want to win is to show her what she still has to live for, and that's what I intend to do, no matter how painful it is for me. I slide it open, twisting my wrist so the faces inside are clear to her.

The words on her lips evaporate as she realizes who they are, her face melting into an almost heartbroken expression. Her fingers trace the faces of her mother, of Prim.

Of Gale.

It had never been a question to me, whether I would include his picture. I knew that out of everyone, he would convince her the most. And I want her to understand that, no matter what, I want her to be happy. She can be happy with Gale, I am sure. After all, it was him that kept her from loving me to begin with. So if I'm gone, what's to stop her from loving him? My happiness has never been what's important to me. As long as she will be happy, I will be at peace. My last-and only-wish is that she won't stop _being _after it all. I'm afraid she'll go to that dark place she went after her father died, without light or hope for the future. That is why the picture of Gale is so important, to show her that it is okay. It is what is best, what I want. I want her to live for me, while I will die for her.

"Your family needs you, Katniss," I breathe, closing my hands around hers. Not only the family she has now, but the one she could have. It's why I don't mention the baby. I want her to know that I mean this, coming from me. Not for the Games. She doesn't respond, but stares down at our hands, both encircling the locket of those she loved most.

"No one needs me," I say, my voice cracking on the truth of my words.

She raises her head slowly, meeting my gaze, her eyes shining with unshed tears. I try to wipe them away, but she shakes her head. "I do," she replies, giving me pause. "I need you."

It takes a moment for her words to register. Even more so for me to realize she means them, too. That thought scares me more than anything else, because if she cares for me I know there is no way she will let me go. I try to protest, but before the words can form she presses her lips fiercely to mine.

I tense, memories surfacing of forced kisses. Fake, though they seemed real to me. But this…this somehow seems different. Her hands move up my arms, clutching behind my neck and keeping me from pulling away. Not that I want to. Not now. Having her so close, every nerve in me feels on fire, and I pull her closer as if somehow I could fuse us together, keep her with me always. She responds enthusiastically, shifting so that she is sitting in my lap and twisting her hands in my hair. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep the tears from spilling out. Why is she doing this now? Why is she showing me that she loves me, too, in whatever way she can, so close to the end? I want to make myself stop, because I knew that all this was doing was making it harder for either of us to let the other go. But I can't. She's all I've ever wanted, and I know beyond anything that she's worth this pain.

I don't know how much time passes, and I don't care. It's not until the bolt of lightning hits the tree, signaling midnight, that I even remember where we are and what we are facing. Finnick jerks himself awake with the noise, panting heavily for a moment as his dreams—or nightmares—fade.

"I can't sleep anymore," he says. "One of you should rest." He glances up for the first time, taking in how Katniss and I are wrapped in each other's arms, our faces flushed and still close. "Or both of you. I can watch alone."

Katniss pulls away from me, embarrassed, and I let her go reluctantly. "It's too dangerous," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm not tired. You lie down, Katniss." She nods silently, and I grab her hand and lead her over to the others. Carefully, I clasp the locket around her neck so that it rests near her heart. I watch her for another moment, just us before I have to let the rest of the world back in again.

With a pain in my throat, I reach down and rest my hand over her stomach. "You're going to make a great mother, you know," I tell her, and she looks confused for a brief moment until understanding dawns on her. It is over, now. This moment between us. The Games have returned, and we must play them if there is any hope of winning.

I sit beside Finnick in silence for a moment, me watching Katniss and him watching me. When I finally see Katniss' breathing even in sleep, I sigh and turn away. I catch Finnick's eye, just for a moment, and in it is written the deepest pain and understanding.

He doesn't say anything—can't, given where we are and who is listening. But I understand.

It's hard to love someone when you can't save them. When, despite your best efforts, you might lose them.

I know that's a potential, even probable outcome. That no matter how I fight the Capitol might not be satisfied, might claim her life as well. That's the worst part-the fear. But I know that's what they expect, what they want. For our fear to cripple us, and make their job easier.

And I won't give them that satisfaction. I will fight, and I will hope, till the very end.

Because as long as I do that, they haven't won. As long as I do that, there's still a chance I can save her.


	13. Captured

Captured

**Here we are, at the end. I can't believe it! I'm going to keep this brief because I'll be uploading a much better thank you page here at the end, but just know how much I appreciate all of you :)**

**Please review one last time! Let me know if you're interested in a Mockingjay sequel!**

**Edit: Pass the Porn Tea pointed out that in Mockingjay Peeta mentions he killed Brutus. I forgot about that, so I've added just a little to include that :)**

The sky falls, all too quickly, and the time comes to begin Beetee's plan. I'm still not sure if it is suicidal or genius, but whatever it is, it's our only shot. I can feel anxiousness emanating from Katniss as we make the hike to the lightning tree, and I reach down to catch her hand, trying to be reassuring. I watch her while Beetee works, though I know I should be keeping watch on the forest in case any Careers come. I just want to memorize the sight of her, while I still can.

After several long minutes Beetee stands from a mess of wires, wiping the perspiration of concentration off his forehead. "Well," he says, taking in the sight of us. "That's it for that. Now, part two. Johanna, Katniss-you two are the fastest. I want you to unwind the coil through the jungle. Drop the spool into the water and _make sure it sinks. _That is vital. Then run, as fast as you can, or else you might be electrocuted too."

Beetee's cool tone does little to quell my nerves, as this plan sounds exceedingly dangerous for Katniss. Not only does she face the risk of Careers and electrocution, but something in my gut is telling me we shouldn't split up. So close to the end, I don't want to separate-especially given that I've never really trusted Johanna all that much.

"I want to go with them as a guard," I state, wrapping a protective arm around Katniss. Beetee shakes his head.

"You're too slow. Besides, I'll need you on this end. Katniss will guard." I open my mouth to protest but Beetee shakes his head again agitatedly. "There's no time to debate this. I'm sorry. If the girls are to get our of there alive, they need to move now."

I can see my own doubt mirrored on Katniss' face, but she clears her expression when she sees me looking. "It's okay," she murmurs softly, hand brushing my shoulder. "We'll just drop the coil and come straight back up."

"Not into the lightning zone," Beetee interjects. "Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you're running out of time, move over one more. Don't even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage."

I feel a pit sinking in my stomach, and I try to grab Katniss' hands and tell her she doesn't have to do this. I see determination set in her eyes, though, as she takes my face between her thin hands. "Don't worry," she begins, and I find it somehow funny that she is the one reassuring me. "I'll see you at midnight." She gives me a quick kiss that feels too much like a goodbye, and it's all I can do to keep from holding her to me and never letting go.

I watch her run swiftly through the trees, further away from me, and feel as if something is missing from me with each step. Swallowing my fear, I turn back to Beetee and Finnick, who are looking at each other meaningfully. Suspicious, I raise a questioning eyebrow but Finnick interrupts before I have a chance to ask what's going on.

"They'll be okay," he says hurriedly, changing the topic before I even have the chance to bring it up. "They're both tough-probably tougher than the three of us combined," he adds with a grin that seems out of place. I don't respond. I'm not in the mood to make jokes when Katniss is facing something so dangerous alone.

I kick at the ground, frustrated and worried. I shouldn't have let her go alone. I should have demanded that I go with her. Or at least followed if I couldn't keep up. What if something goes wrong? What if Johanna decides to end this tenuous alliance in the secrecy of the jungle, take out her strongest competitor when I'm not there to protect her? A literal pain roils in my stomach, and I clench my fists tightly as I try to keep my focus.

It doesn't take long before we start hearing screams, and the unmistakable sound of fighting. With so few tributes left, it is undoubtable that Johanna and Katniss are involved somehow, and without even a moment's hesitation I take off running. I barely even recognize that I am leaving Beetee with one less guard, but my loyalty to them only goes so far when Katniss' life is in danger.

"Katniss!" I call as I crash through the jungle. I'm consciously making as much noise as possible, half hoping that even if I can't find her I can at least draw the Careers away to an easy target. Fear is eating at my stomach as I search in vain, the jungle like an endless maze. I'm not even paying attention to what section I have wandered in to, or what waits for me within-all that matters is finding her.

I keep calling her name, desperation coloring my voice, until at last I hear her answer. "Peeta!" she screams, and I don't think any relief has been sweeter than knowing she is alive. Stumbling forward, I begin running as her voice calls out again, "Peeta! I'm here!"

Suddenly I'm not alone crashing amongst the dense jungle vegetation, and terror again takes root as I realize that I was not really who Katniss was calling to.

The Careers.

She is luring them away from me.

And toward her.

"_No,_" I muttered, my legs suddenly not fast enough by far. "No! Katniss!" I cry, my voice breaking in my desperation. I stumble forward, my prosthetic leg catching on a branch as I crash to the ground. Coughing up a bitter mixture of leaves and dirt, I struggle to hoist myself up, but my leg refuses to cooperate. I've lost track of where Katniss is, now, and I haven't heard her cry in too long. Desperation begins to blur my vision as I try to drag myself forward, my fear so strong I don't even feel the jagged rocks and branches beneath me.

I hear the sound of heavy breathing behind me, and using whatever strength left to me I hoist myself up, clutching a tree for support as two tributes come crashing through the dense trees. Chaff and Brutus. Both are already bleeding badly, but Chaff looks like he doesn't have long for this world, whether Brutus was chasing him or not. His entire shirt is stained red, and his face is so badly bruised I can barely make out his features. Still, I catch his eye for just a moment, see the fear and the desperation, and at last the resignation. With a roar he turns around, launching himself bodily and Brutus. With a triumphant grin Brutus meets his charge with the point of his knife, though he staggers back in pain at the force of the blow.

It's enough.

I try not to think about it. This is what needs to be done to survive. For her to survive.

It doesn't make me feel any better as I force my muscles to move, adrenaline and fear the only thing driving me now. With trembling hands I pull out the knife in my pocket, as I fall forward onto Brutus, stabbing the knife into his neck while he is still distracted with Chaff. He reaches his hands out, closes them around my neck, and I shut my eyes, letting him kill me, too. At least this way she won't have to do it.

But death takes him too soon and his grip loosens as the canon sounds. That's it, then. He's gone. I've taken yet another life. Lost another bit of myself to the Games, to the Capitol. All I can hope is that it will all be over soon. The pain, the fear. I just want it to end.

I am alone again in the night, no idea where I am or what is happening. I don't know if she's hurt, if she needs me. If she's even alive. I don't know what time it is, but I know midnight is close-too close, and we are not ready. We have failed. _I _have failed her, because crumpled on the ground I know there is no way I can help her now. I bite my lip furiously, drawing blood as my muscles give out on me and my eyes strain to see in the pitch-blackness of the night. I'm still struggling, refusing to give up, when it all falls silent.

It's only a moment-nothing any audience member would notice. But I do, because it is so strange for there to be silence in the arena. And somehow I know it means this is it, this is the end. Then, as if the silence had never happened, the sky illuminates in an electric blue and there is a roar as something explodes. And by something, I mean _everything_.

The earth shakes with the impact of the explosion, and I throw my arms over my head in an attempt to protect myself from the rain of debris. I can hear the roar of explosions, so loud that I can't even hear myself as I scream Katniss' name. I don't know what's happening, or what caused this massive explosion-but even with my lack of experience with Capitol technology I can tell that the forcefield around the arena is exploding. Shorts of electricity burst through it until at last it lights up the sky again, and is gone.

Without warning a hovercraft materializes above me, casting searchlights around the area until one eventually lands on me. I try to move, to hide, but I know at this point is futile. Two hulking figures drop down, the heavy sound of their boots moving closer and closer to my position. They reach down even as I struggle and grip me tightly, hoisting me roughly to my feet. With a sudden motion I jerk my arm away from one of them, lashing out once its freed to punch the other, but he-or she, I can't really be sure in the dark-dodges my blow with ease. With precision and ease bred only of years of training, together they pin my arms behind my back in an easy motion, and one of them punches me in the stomach, causing me to double over in pain.

"The more you struggle, the worse it's gonna be for her," a deep voice growls in my ear.

I go limp. That was all that needed to be said. I won't struggle any more. If they have Katniss...I can't, I _won't_ put her in danger.

They laugh at the ease at which I stop fighting, assuming my love is my weakness when really it is my strength. I let them carry me to the hovercraft. I grab hold of the ladder without prompting, let myself be pulled up by the beam. It doesn't matter, nothing matters now, if they have her.

They lead me to a dark room on the lower level of the craft, putting little effort into constraining me now, since they know i will do nothing to fight back. I am willingly walking into the Capitol arms-into death or imprisonment or worse, who knows.

The room is small, with limited amenities. A cot sits pressed up against the corner, looking so old and dirty that even residents of District Twelve would be hesitant about using it. I'm forced down upon it, however, and they tie me down, ropes biting into my skin. A white-clothed couple walks in, the man pushing a cart of supplies and the woman holding a rather menacing looking syringe.

"This won't hurt-much," she says with a wicked smile as she stabs the needle into my arm. A sleepy feeling begins to creep through me, not unlike the time Katniss fed me the berries. My limbs feel light, and I can't keep my eyes from drifting shut.

The last thing I hear before this forced sleep claims me, however, is enough to carry me through. Their voices are hushed as they give a brief conversation. A man speaks first, asking simply, "The girl?"

Bitterness lining her words, a woman responds, "_They _got her."

And with a sigh that could be mistaken for one of sleep, the fear clenching my heart releases its grip. She is safe-for I can only assume "_they" _must mean those inciting the rebellions. Perhaps Haymitch is among them. He'll keep her safe, I know. He owes it to me.

So, as it gets harder and harder to keep the darkness at bay, I realize that I am left truly alone. No Katniss, no Haymitch-no sense of hope at all.

And, I'll admit it.

I'm frightened.


	14. Thank You!

Thank You!

_"I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought, and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder."_

G.K. Chesterton

**I don't think I can express my gratitude for the reception this story has received. You have all been so amazing with your reviews, I've literally been blown away by reading some of them. I'm just a huge fan of this story, and as someone who has always loved to write I wanted to explore it from another perspective. It's been an incredible experience so far, and I hope you all will stick around with me for the next part-Mockingjay!**

By the Numbers:

Words: 27,928

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Views: 20,697

Reviews: 94

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**You guys. This is amazing. I am indebted to each and every one of you individually for everything you've done for this story. And I wanted to acknowledge that, so...**

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_If you reviewed/favorited or whatever after this and you aren't on here I still love you just as much!_

**Holy multiple reviewers! You guys are incredible for sticking with me this whole way :) Ok. I could ramble on for hours about how amazing I think you all are, but I think you would get bored. So I will just say THANK YOU one more time and let you be on your way. **

**Look out for the Mockingjay Sequel, _All That Remains_! Should be up in a few weeks!**


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